The Happy Club
by InisMona
Summary: Harry Potter is fresh out of a war. Noah Puckerman is fresh out of juvie. Both are going to have to learn to cope with their changed circumstances, and in the process, learn trust and love.Slash, H/P.
1. Chapter 1

And, here it goes. My first attempt at a Glee fanfic and my first attempt at a crossover.

A little background info: for convenience's sake, consider all the important events of HBP, i.e. the discovery of horcruxes and Dumbledore's death lifted and mashed into the events of the fifth year, so that the events of the Deathly Hallows would have occurred in the sixth rather than the seventh year. Makes Harry a more convincing high schooler, I think.

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><p>This was the third time in two weeks that Harry had been summoned to the office of the Public Relations Department at the Ministry of Magic. It was the same old shtick, every single time. Sawyer, head of the department, would push a scalding cup of tea across his rosewood desk, which Harry would refuse. He would then knit those over plucked grey eyebrows and launch into a long, dull monologue about healing wounds and duty to the dead and a load of other pretty, useless rot, until Harry started nodding off in his chair, at which point Sawyer would wave Harry off with a long suffering sort of sigh, and Harry would head to the corner coffee shop, down a double shot of espresso, and promptly forget the morning's proceedings.<p>

Today Sawyer was frowning, same as ever, but he had last morning's _Prophet _neatly folded in front of him. This could mean either trouble or amusement, depending on what kind of mood Harry was in. Today's mood: irritable. This morning's post had contained no less than forty-five fan letters, six Howlers, and three marriage proposals. The sender of the last marriage proposal had thoughtfully provided a pair of used underpants. Mrs. Weasley , bless her heart, had burned the lot of them, but that had still left the droppings of fifty-four owls to clean off the dining room floor.

Sawyer fixed Harry a sad stare with those droopy, hang-dog eyes of his. Harry was not moved. Sawyer gestured toward the flashing headline on the paper between them. "So, you decided to make it…official…at last night's press conference that you have no intention of joining with the Auror Department, directly contradicting the Ministry's latest press releases?"

Harry blinked sweetly at him. "That's correct…sir."

"And you also took the liberty of expressing to the reporters that you feel that the Auror Department is…ah…a 'passel of bloody fucking idiots who couldn't defend anyone from a team of Muggle children armed with nerf guns, much less a real threat.'"

"Did I say that?" asked Harry, twisting the corner of his mouth up into a satisfied smirk. "Well, it's true. The night that Tonks died and Kingsley left the department was the night you lost the last two competent Aurors. You traded them in for a bunch of arses who only know how to parrot whatever you say."

Sawyer, unsurprised and unfazed by Harry's distaste, pressed on. "Your little grudge with the Ministry is old news. Has it ever occurred to you that no matter what your opinion on the task force may be, it is to the Ministry's-no, to the magical community's benefit that you at least attempt to play nice?"

In fact, that was the first thing that had occurred to Harry, but he had no intention of letting Sawyer know that. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow, forcing Sawyer to explain.

"What I mean to say is that public morale is in the gutter. We won the war, yes, but no one will ever forget that You-know-who infiltrated the government, so it was the Ministry itself that was the enemy. Old habits die hard. It would help enormously if a powerful symbol of victory such as you allied with the Ministry-"

"Pardon?" asked Harry.

"I was saying, if a symbol of victory such as yourself allied with the Ministry and publicly supported the reconstruction effort-"

"I'm not a symbol," said Harry, his voice dangerously steady. He had no memory of getting to his feet, and yet there he was, staring down at Sawyer.

Sawyer gaped, those basset hound eyes now registering alarm. "That not-what the Ministry needs-"

Harry wanted nothing more than to upend the desk on Sawyer's head, but that would result in injury and a lawsuit. He settled instead for upending the chair. "I'm not a symbol. I'm not your pawn. I am a goddamn human. And let me tell you this; when I offered myself up to die, it wasn't for the Ministry, and most certainly not for this." He swept out, doing his best impression of Snape in a towering temper. Heads up and down the hall flicked up out of their cubicles to stare at him. He didn't particularly care, for once. He only hoped that he had broken the door when he slammed it on his way out. At least he could make the Ministry pay for that much.

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><p>"That was kind of a stupid move," said George Weasley, over a sponge cake and tea provided by Mrs. Weasley.<p>

"I know," said Harry, massaging his temples in circles. "They'll be out for my blood now."

"Are you kidding me? It'd going to be the post-Triwizard press all over again."

"They had it coming."

"I never said they didn't. If you had asked Hermione, though, you probably could have gotten a more socially acceptable method of expressing your disapproval."

"Since when did you care about socially acceptable?"

"Fair enough," George shrugged, but Harry regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth. George had been a changed man since the death of Fred. He never thought that he'd live to see the day when the word 'withdrawn' could be used to describe a Weasley twin, but there it was.

"I just need to get away," Harry muttered, talking more to his sponge cake than to anyone in particular.

"That's it, then," said George, waving his fork enthusiastically.

"What?"

Just get away! Who's to stop you from moving to Siberia or wherever, where no one will give a damn about what the stupid _Prophet_ says or where you went for dinner last Tuesday?"

"That's…not a bad idea," said Harry, chewing on his sponge cake thoughtfully. "I could move to a Muggle town or something. Go to school. Be normal."

"A Muggle high school? They won't know what's hit them." Harry didn't know whether to be heartened or frightened by the return of that old manic gleam to George's eyes.

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><p>The chapters will get longer, seeing as this is kind of an intro, I swear. Read and reviewwwwww, darlings, or I won't know what I'm getting wrong and what I'm getting right.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for the reviews, guys, in particular **Kalaert** for the long, lovely, informative review which I will most certainly be keeping in mind in an attempt to make this thing worth people's time.

Oh, and I forgot to mention before, but I don't own Harry Potter, or Glee, or any of the characters and settings that belong to each respectively. If I did, I'd be a hell of a lot richer.

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><p>Noah Puckerman's badass card was in more danger than the v-card of a college freshman at their very first keg party. At McKinley High School, Puck was the infamous sex shark extraordinaire, not to be crossed on pain of death. Of course, the initial Glee Club controversy and the regrettable mohawk shaving incident had been minor bumps in the road. However, a few judiciously timed dumpster throws and a shiny new pocketknife just barely showing underneath the hemline of his t-shirt were more than enough to set things back in their natural order. At the Lima Juvenile Detention Center, though? Puck was a no one, a first timer, a pussy. He was practically Emma Pillsbury when compared to the self-tattooed chain smoking thugs out of Lima Heights. Not Lima Height Adjacent, mark you, but <em>Lima Heights.<em>

And they had seen right through him. That was the part that had scared Puck the most. Because he was always the unconquerable, indisputable king, and he was pretty sure that he had banged every hot mom on the PTA circuit, along with any chick with panties worth getting into at McKinley High. But the crowd at Lima Juvenile Detention Center could care less, because they were the real shit. They were the ones who could hold a gun without shaking, flash a knife without blinking, and they wouldn't bother to waste their time lacing bake sale cupcakes with pot because they had labs in their basement that turned out shit that could probably put Puck in a coma with only a pinch. They wouldn't care that Puck had a daughter out there to think about either, because they were the types that had left multiple children behind to wallow in the same sad sorry lives that the inmates themselves had been born and bred into. They had _laughed_ at Puck, those street hardened bastards, laughed at Puck like he had never been laughed at before in his life.

He was beginning to wonder if they had ripped off his balls along with his nipple ring, because it occurred to him that morning as he set off for school that he now had a proper idea of what it felt like to be the rest of the Glee Club. He, Finn, Quinn, Santana, Mike, and Brittany might have taken some shit in the beginning, sure, but nobody _really_ argued with a quarterback built like a refrigerator, or the hottest chicks in the school. Puck had never spent his days like Artie, in mortal fear of the staircase, or like Kurt, always twitchy and on the lookout for red letterman jackets. Juvie had shoved him all the way to the bottom of the totem pole, though, and just like when you got a small taste of success you never stopped chasing it, hitting rock bottom gave you a fear like no other, the fear of ever being vulnerable and insignificant again.

Accordingly, Puck knew that he had to compensate for all that he was worth today. So he put on his best big boy swagger and burst in the double doors as if he had personally banged the mother of every male in the school, and let them know so. Which he had very nearly already accomplished, actually. Yeah, it was reassuring, that feeling of being King Asshole all over again. But now was the time to tighten his grip on that crown, not slacken it, as Glee Club had recently been making him do. Hell, he had been somewhat civilized toward Rachel Berry. There was a symptom of insanity if there had ever been one.

_I'm the fucking king_, he told himself, propping his feet up on his desk during first period, which he had made a point of arriving ten minutes late to. _Invincible_, he added, using a pencil that had been left on the floor to carve rude words into the desktop. For a while, all was well. Kids parted like the Red Sea in the hallways as he walked by, habitual fears now bolstered by tall tales of all the awful things he must have done to land in juvie. But as lunch period neared, things began to go wrong, horribly wrong. An ice cube slipped into his lungs as he heard the whispers, the gossip going around the halls.

"The new kid?"

"British, right? With that scar on his face?"

"Yeah, that new kid. Took on Dave fucking Karofsky. And won."

"Technically he didn't win."

"'Cause Karofsky turned and ran like a pussy before anything real happened."

"Don't blame him, new guy was pretty scary. In a totally badass kind of way."

"Just…_badass, _man."

Puck didn't know whether to be furious or terrified. Some foreign kid had just decided to waltz in and turn everything upside down? And the whispers, sweet Jesus, the whispers. This mystery British guy could not be a badass. No way. No fucking way. Not in Noah Puckerman's school. No one around here was supposed to be a badass but himself. Because he was the king, had always been the king, would always be the king. Maybe the order of things had been temporarily rearranged at the Lima Juvenile Detention Center, but at McKinley High School, things weren't supposed to change. He had to find this new kid, he decided. Teach him some manners, before Puck found himself off of his own throne. When he approached Finn in the hall, then, it was with a definite sense of purpose. "You heard anything about the new kid?"

"The alleged badass?" piped up an unwelcome Rachel Berry. Puck internally cursed. He knew there was a reason why he hadn't been too fussed when they'd failed to really get it on.

Finn did that slow blink of his. "Yeah. Dude that took on Karofsky?"

"That's the one. Know what his face looks like?"

"Why?"

"I was just thinking we should pay him a visit at lunch. Give him…a welcome."

"Like, invite him to Glee Club or something?" Thank the sweet lord for Finn's obliviousness. It had gotten Puck into Quinn Fabray's pants, and now it was going to buy him the show of power that he needed.

"Sure. Something like that."

"Oh, boys," said Rachel, a grin stretching her face. "I'm touched by how much of a team player the both of you have become, finding in every situation an opportunity to promote Glee. It must be the result of my positive influence."

Puck repressed with great difficulty the overwhelming urge to knock every one of Rachel's teeth out.

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><p>"Over there," Santana drawled, one hand on her hip and the other pointing across the cafeteria to the emptiest table at the very back. Puck couldn't see the kid's face, only a messy head of black hair. He sighed, tilting his head sideways, and cracking his knuckles with a rippling pop. Time to get down to business. He strode across the cafeteria ignoring that little trickle of fear in his belly that had been haunting him for some weeks now. When he got there, the new kid didn't even look up from his salad, although Puck knew his approach was deliberate enough that the new kid had to have noticed. <em>Thinks he's some kind of tough guy, huh?<em> He cleared his throat, deciding not to be the first one to grace an unexpected rival with words.

The kid finally had the decency to look up. He was just some skinny, relatively normal looking dude. Even his clothes were generic. There were no piercings or gang tattoos or anything really that should have marked him as a threat, but there was a jagged scar on his forehead, something like a lightning bolt. Puck had learned enough in juvie to know that every scar meant something, whether a gang affiliation or a fight won or lost. Scars weren't meant to be ignored. "Problem?" the kid asked, arching a brow snidely.

Puck bristled. There he was, six feet of solid muscle and a face that anyone could peg as trouble from a mile away and this kid was giving him _attitude_? "Yes, actually," snarled Puck, his already strained temper snapping despite the fact that the new guy really hadn't done anything. Not yet, anyway. Who could blame Puck for being on edge? "Who the fuck do you think you are? Who are you, thinking you can start shit in _my_ school?"

The new guy started _laughing, _God damn it. This was not how things were supposed to be going.

"I think his name is Harry Potter, yeah? That's what Wheels told me," said a sudden voice at his shoulder. Santana was there. _Damn_. She was supposed to have stayed behind. "Am I in the middle of something here?" Santana may have been many things, but stupid wasn't one of them. She could smell a fight in the air, as could people around them, who were turning and looking. They wanted blood. Jacob Ben Israel was hovering nearby, camera at the ready and look on his face that suggested he'd been personally handed Rachel Berry's used granny panties. Potter knew what the other kids were waiting for too, Puck could tell. He gave a shifty sort of look, glancing around at their lunch table audience, clearly weighing the odds.

Potter stood up, finally turning around to face Puck properly. Puck noted with a sort of perverse pleasure that Potter was several inches shorter than him. At least that was one advantage to count on in the event of an honest to God fight. Potter didn't throw a punch, though. Instead, he said: "_Your_ school? You're getting your knickers in a twist because you think I'm trying to start something at _your_ school? I don't know what the hell your name is, but I'm going to bet it's not 'McKinley'. And even if it was, you could keep this sorry shithole to yourself. It's not worth it." Several gasps went around, and a few brave souls even snickered.

Puck opened his own mouth, starting forward, but he found the man-mountain that was Finn Hudson standing between him and Potter. Evidently, Finn had seen trouble brewing, and decided that he didn't trust Puck to do any sort of recruiting all by himself. "Stand down, Puck. Dude got here like, five minutes ago, and you're already all up in his grill."

"Did you not just hear this asshole talk?"

"Did you not just spend like three weeks in the slammer?" Finn retorted. "Do you wanna be back in there already? Is that it?"

No, he didn't. That didn't put a dent in his growing rage, though. "Juvie or not," he protested, trying to save face as he attempted to twist out of Finn's restraining hands, and failed. "He can't just talk to me like that."

"Really? I thought I just did," said Potter, smirking at Puck over Finn's shoulder.

"You open your mouth to talk back to me again, I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll end up in the nurse's office if you don't leave me the hell alone, that's what'll happen," said Potter, his relaxed posture at odds with both his own brash words and Puck, who now had a vein going in his temple. The bell rang, and Potter slipped off with the rest of crowd, giving Puck a cheeky wave before disappearing.

The cafeteria was almost emptied of the disappointed kids, who'd been expecting nothing short of a gladiator match when Finn finally released Puck, who looked simply murderous. "I had to hold you back, man," said Finn apologetically. "You're my best friend, no matter what, and I don't want to see you land in deep shit again."

Puck said nothing, only stalked off. He bypassed the door to fifth period English and instead headed off for the bleachers at the football field. He needed alone time before he ended up doing something truly stupid. He'd tried calculating his actions for a change, and in the end it'd done nothing good. Why did his life have to be such a massive fuckup? And who the hell did Harry Potter think he was?

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><p>Well, ya didn't honestly think they'd jump into each other's beds right away, did you? Comments and criticism much appreciated, as ever.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Ouch, that took a few days longer than I thought it would. I'm going to try to shoot for weekend updates from here on out, seeing as school's going absolutely nuts and I've got a job on the side doing articles for a music website.

My name is neither J.K. Rowling nor Ryan Murphy. I do not own anything in this story.

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><p>Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he found he was making rather a lot during his current telephone conversation. "Ron, listen to me, mate. I'm not the smoothest guy, but I can tell you this: when Hermione asked you if those dress robes made her look fat in the press photographs, she <em>wasn't looking for an honest answer.<em>"

"Well, how in the name of Merlin's pants was I supposed to know that? She asked me a question, I answered." Harry could almost picture Ron's face from an ocean away; red haired, freckled, and bearing an expression appropriate to listening to Professor McGonagall's lecture on trans-species transfiguration.

"I know that. But in the future-just, tell her what you know she wants to hear? Okay? It's easier that way."

"God, you don't need to tell me twice. We haven't had sex in about a week, and I think that I might just die."

"Ron!" Harry blanched. "I don't want to think about you and Hermione's sex life. Just….pass the phone over to her, would you?" There was a pause, during which Harry could hear all the commotion going on in the background at the Burrow. Truth be told, Harry missed that warm little house. The Weasleys were the first honest to God family that he had ever really had, and sometimes he hated the press even more for driving him out of the few places that he could call home.

A breathy voice sounded in his ear. "Harry?"

He felt a grin spread across his face. "Hey, Hermione. Heard all about you and Ron's little tiff. Want to talk about it?"

Hermione sighed. "There's not much to talk about, really. It's just Ron being Ron. Some days I love him to bits, and then the other days I want to throw him out the nearest window. But you know, that's just how relationships work sometimes."

"So you're not still mad at him?"

"No, of course not. I stopped being really angry after the first hour or so."

"Then why not just go back and fix things up?"

"When you want to teach a kid a lesson, you take away their favorite toy. When you want to teach your boyfriend a lesson, you take away the sex. Trust me, within the day, he's going to get desperate and crack and apologize. Then we'll have incredible make-up sex."

"Merlin, Hermione, I didn't want to know about you and Ron's 'amazing make-up sex'. You and Ron are like my sister and brother, and I swear, I'm still permanently scarred from that one time I walked in on you two in the Gryffindor dormitory."

"Well, it was the night after the battle, and we had just gotten together. What did you expect?"

"You could have at least put a tie on the door!"

"Point taken, Harry. But you're thousands of miles away, so that's a non-issue now. Can we please move on?"

"You don't need to ask me twice."

"How's living solo going?" Harry had rented out a modest apartment, using the funds from his now inexhaustible Gringotts account, his inheritance having been padded by certain financial benefits that stemmed from defeating the greatest dark wizard of all time. Hermione had chosen all the furniture for him, not trusting him to make a convincing bachelor pad, despite the fact that he had lived exclusively with the most normal Muggle family in all of existence for the first eleven years of his life. The couches were beige, and slightly dilapidated, and there were a few posters of bands that Harry didn't even know tacked up on the walls. All of his magical memorabilia had been hidden away in his closet, with more cloaking enchantments than probably necessary. He couldn't help it, though. Spending your entire life looking over your shoulder, whether for the neighborhood bullies or a magical homicidal maniac could do that to you.

"Well enough, I suppose. It's a pain cooking for myself, though. Mrs. Weasley spoiled me right proper. And you would be absolutely appalled at the education system here; the teachers are mostly incompetent idiots."

"That's completely and totally awful, but as long as you don't meet an Umbridge or a Lockhart, then I'd say that you'll survive. It's a step up at least. What about the kids?"

"Kids will be kids, and these haven't been broken by a war. Meaning your typical collection of the cool and the uncool, nothing new."

"Did you make any new friends?"

"Not really. But I got two new enemies, if that counts?"

"Harry…."

"I didn't do it on purpose! The first shoved me into the wall out of nowhere; did you honestly think that I was going to take that lying down? And the other one just marched up during lunch and went off about how he 'owned the school,' and how I needed to stand down. Like Draco Malfoy, but with more muscle."

He could almost hear Hermione rolling her eyes. "I understand that you have a compulsive need to stand up and start shouting every time someone says something that you disagree with. Just don't go overboard and end up getting into a fight, or using magic, okay? That's the fastest ticket back home you'll ever be able to buy, not to mention the fact that the American Ministry will come nosing in your affairs themselves."

"I know, I know. I'll be a good boy."

"You'd better be, for your own sake. I'm sorry, but I've got to go now, little Teddy just set Bill's ponytail on fire."

"Mrs. Weasley will be pleased. Send my love, will you?"

"Sure thing."

"And Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Harry," said Hermione, her exasperated tone not entirely able to mask the sisterly affection that crept into her voice.

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><p>Harry was greeted by a great deal of whispering and pointing on his second day at McKinley High. It was a bit like being back at Hogwarts all over again, and not being able to go anywhere without getting goggled at like a zoo animal. This time, all the pointing and whispering was over something he had done, and not who he had been born to be, so it made for a nice, if overall rather insignificant change.<p>

He showed up to Physics with three seconds to spare before the bell. As per usual, heads in the classroom turned to scope out him, the new kid. He scanned the room, now in the delicate position of having to pick where to sit when there were limited spots left. There was a seat in the back corner next to a bunch of red-jacketed meatheads, not unlike the idiots that he had faced off with yesterday, but something about their resemblance to Dudley repulsed him. He instead chose a seat next to a nice-looking sort of fellow with thick-framed glasses and a spectacular sweater vest. "I'm Artie," said the boy, offering a hand to shake.

"I'm Harry," he said, considering how wonderful it was to actually introduce himself and not get immediately identified by his scar.

"Not from around here, I take it?" said Artie, pushing his glasses up his nose with a single finger.

Harry grinned. "That obvious, is it? It's my first year in the States, actually."

"From England I presume? Why the hell would you ditch _England_ for hick town Lima?"

"You know…recently, I've been asking myself the same question," sighed Harry, watching the red-jacketed meatheads lob a spitball at the back of the unsuspecting teacher, a tiny, stooped old woman with skin like raw silk.

Artie punched him gently in the shoulder. "Don't worry, man. The whole school's been talking, we know you can take care of yourself. And as long as you avoid wearing a corset to second period, they should pretty much leave you alone."

"A corset?"

"It's a long story."

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><p>"You should totally sit with us during lunch," said Artie, as Harry wheeled him out the door and toward the cafeteria.<p>

"Us?"

"Us Glee Clubbers," Artie clarified.

"Glee Club?" said Harry blankly. "A club for happy people?"

Artie burst out laughing. "Happy? I wish. We're all a bunch of dysfunctional miserable misfit teenagers."

"Sounds like my kind of people. So what do you do in Glee Club?"

"It's a show choir. We sing and dance."

Harry felt his cheeks heat up, remembering the complete and utter fiasco that was the Yule Ball. "I don't dance."

"But you sing?"

"In the shower, sure. But other than that, I have no clue."

"Nobody's going to laugh at you, Harry. We don't have room to talk. We're all losers, even those of us that used to be cool. Take Puck for example."

"Puck?"

"The one that tried to pick a fight with you yesterday during lunch."

It was Harry's turn to burst out laughing. "That guy, singing and prancing around to a bunch of show tunes? Who is he trying to kid, putting on that ridiculous tough guy act?"

"It's a question we've all pondered at some time or another, and never been able to answer," Artie shrugged. "My point is that we've got absolutely no room to judge you."

"I still don't know about this."

"Hey, just sit with us at lunch, okay? If you like the other people enough give it a chance. If you don't, no pressure. We're still cool."

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><p>Harry wheeled Artie up to possibly the most bizarre set of people he'd ever seen. It was a bit like seeing a gang of Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws all playing nicely. "This is Mercedes, Mike, Tina, Brittany, Quinn, Sam, Finn, Rachel, and Kurt. Say hello to Harry, everybody."<p>

"Oh my God, _that_ Harry?" asked the girl identified as Mercedes.

"Um. Yeah?"

"You told off Karofsky, which totally turned you into the school's Chuck Norris," said Kurt, a slight, pale sort.

"And successfully got under Puck's skin," added Rachel, a tiny girl with an enormous mouth wearing a jumper that reminded him forcibly of Umbridge.

"Speak of the devil," whispered Tina, indicating the entrance to the cafeteria with a hand dripping in black lace and chains. An extremely displeased looking Puck was standing there, flanked by a curvaceous sort of cheerleader.

"What is _he_ doing here?" demanded Puck loudly, his eyes locking on Harry.

"Getting to know everybody. I might as well, seeing as I'm joining Glee Club," said Harry making up his mind on the spur of the moment. He was rewarded by the sight of a vein pulsing in Puck's temple. Puck just stood there, rendered incoherent and immovable by surprise and rage, but the curvaceous cheerleader slung herself into the seat next to Harry.

"Glad to have you, babe," she said, using that old trick Harry had seen one too many times, where the girl would tilt her head down and peer up out of half-lidded eyes. Harry just raised an eyebrow at her.

"Even if Puck isn't," said Quinn, who seemed to find the whole thing immensely amusing.

"He's just going to have to learn to deal, then," said Harry, in as sugary of a voice as he could muster, throwing a wink at the still glowering Puck.

"Oh, he'll deal," said Santana, trailing a finger up his spine. Harry swatted her hand away. "What?" she asked, surprised.

"You're violating me and we've known each other for all of two seconds."

"I'll make this straightforward, then. I'm the hottest chick at this school. You're kinda hot yourself, and have that yummy little accent to go with it. You, me, janitor's closet in five. You won't regret it."

"No thanks," he said, laughing.

Santana's penciled eyebrows drew together dangerously. "What? I'm giving you the opportunity to get into my pants, here, and believe me, that's an opportunity some people here would kill for."

Harry gave a sidelong glance to the rest of the lunch table, which was following the conversation like a tennis rally. He noticed in particular that manic blonde pixie girl. What had her name been? Brittany? Her eyes were locked on Santana, and he could tell the girl wasn't breathing. Harry turned back to Santana, giving her a pitying sort of look. "I've had women both hotter and older than you fling their panties at me, so you'll forgive me if I'm not completely thrown by this one-time opportunity."

Santana's mouth fell open, and the rest of the table dissolved into gales of laughter precisely as the bell rang. As Harry collected his things, he chanced a glance back at Puck. A tiny, grudging smile was finding its way onto Puck's face. Shaking his head, Harry followed the rest of the Glee Club out the door.

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><p>Huzzah, Harry's joining Glee Club! Now comes the challenge of finding him appropriate, non-cheesy audition music. Ugh.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Yowza. Yes, I went kind of lazy on the song choice, but hey, look on the bright side: at least it's not completely cheesy. Thanks to everyone who recommended a song anyway! I appreciate those along with the reviews more than you can possibly know. Hey, they're like mother's milk. They tell me that people still care about this thing. The more reviews I get, the faster I write. *cough*

* * *

><p>Puck was locked in his bedroom, seething. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the house, jump into a car, crank up the volume and just drive around the shithole that was Lima, to distract himself from the depressing loop that was working out to be his high school life. Unfortunately, everyone still seemed to be under the impression that if he was allowed behind the wheel he'd go plowing into another ATM. Nobody seemed to stop to consider the fact that yeah, maybe juvie had taught him his lesson after all. Wasn't that what juvie was for in the first place? Otherwise, what the hell was the point of tossing him into the lion's den like that? But no, everyone was still treating him like he'd committed murder or arson or something. So there he was, locked in his room, nothing but the nubby blue bedcover and the muffled sounds of raucous, drunken yells filtering through the window to keep him company.<p>

That's all Lima was: drunks and nobodies. Even his own mother. He loved her in his own grudging way, tried to do right by her. He knew she tried to do right by him and his kid sister anyway. She worked some dead-end job nine or ten hours a day and did whatever overtime she could get her hands on, and when she came home on Friday nights, she cracked open a beer and drank herself hysterical and then passed out on the couch. It wasn't that Puck could really blame her. He'd drink himself stupid too if he was past forty and still stuck in Ohio, with only a juvenile delinquent son and a lonely little girl as proof he'd ever done anything in his life.

He hated seeing his mother like that, though, and he especially hated his little sister seeing her like that. Puck might have been a major fuckup, but there was no way in hell he was letting his baby sister, the same baby sister who had given him crayon drawings of dinosaurs and actually gotten him to sit still for an hour and a half to watch a Disney movie and cried herself sick when he'd been carted off to the slammer, turn out the same way. He'd imposed a single rule on himself, for his sister's sake: he didn't drink. Ever. He stayed out late and partied and fucked his way through most of McKinley High's female population, but he didn't ever drink. Yeah, at the football after parties, maybe the dudes would shove a red cup at him and he'd take it. He'd dump the cup out as discreetly as he could, though, and put on a damn good show of being drunk instead. He'd get loud and unsteady and even more obnoxious than usual, and proposition anyway who came within a five foot radius of him. He had a pretty good idea of what a drunken person looked like anyway, thanks to his mother. He'd come home in the wee hours of the morning, sure, but he came home completely sober. Sober enough to stop by his sister's room and give her a kiss on the forehead before heading off to bed. Normally speaking, Puck didn't do that kind of sappy shit, but his sister was the one exception, and if anyone dared to make fun of either her or Puck's affection for her, he'd castrate them.

Of course, these days, he was likely to castrate anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. Everyone and everything made him angry, made his blood boil for no good reason. That damn Harry Potter for instance. That nancy little British kid who seemed to have made it his life's mission to irritate Puck as much as possible. Sure, so Potter might have had a decent moment back in the cafeteria when he'd turned down Santana in the funniest way possible. Now Santana would go running back to Brittany, who'd finally gotten the common sense to break it off with Wheels, and they'd make sweet lesbian love and all would be well in the world. That didn't change the fact that Potter was kind of an asshole who was clearly baiting Puck, though. He'd even joined Glee Club! How was that for annoying?

In all honestly, though, Puck couldn't wait for Potter's Glee audition tomorrow. He'd make a fool of himself or sing like a bullfrog or something, and Puck would get a good laugh out of the whole thing. Lord knew he needed something funny in his life for a change.

* * *

><p>The Glee Club members were filing into the choir room, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. Puck was tipped halfway backward in his plastic chair, pretending to be more interested in his scuffed boots than anything else, but he couldn't really lie, he was looking forward to watching the spectacle as much as anyone else. Hell, probably even more than the rest of the kids. After all, it was him and Potter that had a beef between each other, not anyone else.<p>

Mercedes steered Potter into the room by the elbow, clearly worried that their one-in-a-million new recruit would suddenly go bolting out the door. Puck didn't think that she had to worry, though. Potter had already proven that he'd go to great lengths to irritate people.

Schuester clapped his hands, calling the noisy teenagers to order. "Okay, guys, let's get down to business! I've been informed that we have a potential member in our midst?"

There was a smattering of applause and catcalls. Well, just one catcall. That was Puck himself. "Go on, British Boy," said Mercedes, prodding Potter forward. Puck felt a brief flash of irritation. Since when were those two buddies?

"I trust you have a song prepared for audition?" said Schuester.

"Yeah. I'm warning you all now, though," said Potter, now addressing the rest of the Glee Club, "this isn't going to be anything spectacular. I never sing."

Puck snorted. Yeah, he had predicted so. Mercedes Jones seemed to think otherwise, though. "Harry, shut up," she ordered. "Boys," she said, indicating the band, "hit it."

Puck didn't know what he had expected. Maybe a stupid show tune or something, or perhaps one of those irritating Top 40 type pop hits that infested the radio for about a month, and then dropped off the face of the planet. Certainly not the slow song that was playing, Brad the piano player's hands skimming along the piano, the drumbeat only a slow throb. There was something a little tense about Potter, like he was all coiled in on himself with the entire club watching him, but when he opened his mouth and started singing, he relaxed, if only by a fraction.

"_Pass me that lovely little gun_

_My dear, my darling one_

_The cleaners are coming, one by one_

_You don't even want to let them start"_

Puck couldn't help but perform the smallest of double-takes. There went another expectation, taking a running jump out of the nearest window.

"_They are knocking now upon your door_

_They measure the room, they know the score_

_They're mopping up the butcher's floor_

_Of your broken little hearts"_

He really didn't know what kind of voice he'd expected. A wailing sort of voice like Finn, perhaps, or Hummel's falsetto, but certainly not the voice that he was hearing. Potter's voice was clearly untrained, but it had soulful, smoky rasp that commanded attention.

"_Hey little train, we are all jumping on_

_The train that goes to the Kingdom_

_We're happy, Ma, we're having fun_

_And the train ain't even left the station"_

The song finished, and the room was oddly quiet. "That was quite good," said Schuester at last, giving an approving nod.

"Not bad for a white boy," added Mercedes. She was sporting a wicked little grin.

"Thanks to you, actually, seeing as you gave the song to me," admitted Potter.

Rachel stood up, smoothing her plaid skirt primly. "You've obviously not been blessed with the years of professional training that I have, and could use quite a bit of practice, but you have a decent feel for pitch and a unique tone. Welcome to Glee Club then, I presume?" she said, peering at Schuester.

"Yep," said Schuester, a surprised smile sneaking its way across his face. "So, give a round of applause for Glee Club's newest member, Harry Potter."

There was an enthusiastic round of stamping, whistling, and clapping. Puck almost put his hands together too, before he remembered that Potter was supposed to be pissing him off. He shot a glare instead. Potter wasn't bothered though. He gave Puck a little self satisfied smirk as he sat down in the empty chair next to Mercedes, Finn and Mike slapping him on the back. Puck turned away, slightly sickened. Potter just got everything, didn't he? He had somehow snuck up on Puck, snatched up the school badass title without having to be thrown into the shark tank that was the Lima Juvenile Detention Center, and effortlessly integrated himself into the closest thing to a circle of friends that Puck had ever had. And according to Santana, he wasn't bad looking either. Although his hair was still stupid and messy. _Huh_, thought Puck, glancing over at the back of Potter's head and patting his own awesome mohawk. _Maybe there's just a tiny bit of justice in this world after all. _

* * *

><p>"We need to send in spies," said Rachel, the moment practice was officially ended and Schuester was out the door.<p>

"Spies?" Potter looked confused.

"To spy on the competition," clarified Hummel, not even looking up from filing his nails. "It's a Glee Club tradition. Everyone spies on everyone."

"And steals a few set lists once in a while," added Artie.

"So we need to send someone in to infiltrate the Warblers-"

"The Garglers, more like it," cut in Santana.

"-and the Hipsters."

Puck perked up. _Spying mission? Now that's my kind of shit._ "I can take on the Garglers."

Rachel froze and locked eyes significantly with Tina, who only gave a tiny shrug. Nobody else spoke. An awkward sort of silence swelled.

"Well?" Puck demanded.

"I don't think this is a good idea, Puck," said Rachel. Her foot was now tapping nervously. Everyone else was looking decidedly in the other direction except for Potter, who just looked confused.

"Why not? You were all excited about doing the Mission Impossible thing not five damn seconds ago."

"I just…." Rachel looked down.

"If you've got something to say, spit it out," Puck said. He was tired of people tiptoeing around him.

"I just don't think it's a good thing for you to do! I mean, knowing you, you're going to get carried away and I don't think that this club can afford to have you in deeper trouble." Rachel said this all very fast, with the distinct air of ripping off a band aid.

"That's what this is, then? You think I'm dangerous? You think I'm gonna start shit again, go postal on their asses just because I'm a juvenile delinquent?"

"Puck, I didn't say it like that."

"But that's what you meant!"

"Can you blame me?" yelled Rachel, finally snapping.

"What the hell are you saying?"

"God, Puck, stop playing the fucking victim," cut in Finn. "Rachel's right and you know it."

"You think I'm dangerous? More dangerous than anyone else here?"

Finn threw his hands in the air in frustration. "I don't think anyone else here has been on trial, have they?"

A ringing silence followed. The rest of the club just stared, but Puck could not fail to notice as Potter flicked his eyes down to the floor.

"…Harry?" asked Mike incredulously. Apparently, he hadn't missed it either.

Potter looked back up, a definite red tinge staining his cheeks. "What?"

"Have…you ever gone on trial before?" Rachel's eyes were enormous.

"It was self defense!" For the first time since Potter had set foot in McKinley High School, he looked genuinely defensive, and maybe a little bit angry.

"Is that where you got…that scar then?" asked Hummel, pointing at Potter's forehead.

Potter's hand automatically jumped to his scar, covering it up. "No."

"Then where'd you get it?"

"From a crocodile." Tina gave a nervous laugh, and the rest of the club rolled their eyes. Brittany, however, turned huge, starry eyes on Potter.

"So what happened to the crocodile?"

"I killed him. About four months ago." Potter's tone was flat.

"Quit fucking with Brittany," said Santana. She draped an arm over Brittany's shoulder.

"What makes you think I'm fucking with her? You don't know my life."

And just like that, the tension was released, like someone cracking open the door to a stuffy room, as the discussion turned to crocodiles and alligators and which were more likely to give nastier scars. Puck didn't tear his eyes away from Potter, though. The kid was turning into a damn onion, layers peeling back only to reveal more layers. In that moment, he decided that he would get to the bottom of this.

* * *

><p>The song used is "O Children", by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Check it out (if you didn't already after TDHP1). He's got some truly fantastic, moving stuff.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Goodness, I really didn't mean to write a Badass!Harry, but that's what everyone's been saying he is. Whoopsies. Ah well, happy mistake. I'm glad that people liked the little AVPM reference anyway. Anyone who's a fan of both Glee and HP has probably seen it already anyhow. It's like, mandatory viewing. So many thanks for all the positive feedback, guys! It keeps me going even on the tired days.

* * *

><p>Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room at the Hummel residence along with Kurt and Mercedes, eating spinach pizza (the only kind of pizza that Kurt would deign to eat) and drawing up a cheesy script for a French project. Harry found himself constantly amused by and very fond of the both of them, despite the fact that he'd known them each for about a week. They were rather like gender swapped versions of Ron and Hermione, what with Mercedes' fun-loving nature and cavalier attitude toward school, and Kurt's obsessive organization of his life combined with his fierce loyalty to anyone and anything that he took to heart.<p>

Kurt's normally laser-honed focus was off today, though. Mercedes obviously knew something was up as well. She exchanged a significant look with Harry before clearing her throat loudly, reaching over, and shutting the French textbook in front of Kurt with a decisive _snap._ Kurt jumped.

"What?"

"You've been fidgety all day, and you passed straight by the mailbox when we got home today, even though today is the day this month's issue of _Vogue_ was supposed to come in."

"We're not stupid," said Harry. "You're holding back something."

Mercedes nodded in agreement. "So spill it, white boy."

Kurt looked down at his skinny, pale fingers, a pink tinge rising in his cheeks. "I was going to wait to tell everyone in Glee at practice tomorrow, but I suppose with you two going all Sherlock Holmes on my ass-" he paused to shoot Mercedes and Harry a glare-"I'm going to have to tell you both now."

"Damn straight," said Mercedes, a slightly smug smile on her face.

"Dad and Carole Hudson are getting married," said Kurt all in one breath, his face going from pink to flaming red in about five seconds flat.

"Oh my GOD," squealed Mercedes. Her voice had gone up an octave. "That is beyond adorable. Are they finally going to let you put all those wedding planning books to use?"

"Don't you know it," said Kurt. He threw her a roguish wink. "And that's not the only plan we've got in the works."

"What are you saying?"

"There's a reason _why_ I wanted to make that announcement in front of the whole of New Directions, if you catch my drift."

"OH MY GOD. New Directions is going to be the wedding performers, aren't we?" said Mercedes.

"Yes!" Kurt threw his arms around Mercedes' neck, and they both dissolved into a fit of giggles. Harry just sat back and watched them, bemused, until Mercedes threw an arm around his neck too and yanked him into the group hug.

"Ouch! Merlin, Mercedes, you're strangling me," he complained. He was secretly gratified, though, in the way that one might protest Mrs. Weasley's bone-crushing hugs but appreciate them all the same.

"You'd better start practicing, British boy, because this is going to be your first performance with the New Directions."

Harry detangled himself. "Wait, what? You're telling me to go to the wedding?"

"And there was me, thinking that you had a few more brain cells than the average McKinley High student," Kurt sighed, pasting on his best devastated face.

"Oh God, no, I couldn't impose. I mean I haven't even been here all that long and now I'm intruding and-"

"Harry. Shut up," Kurt advised. "You're coming to the wedding with the rest of New Directions, and you're going to perform with us, and you're going to have a damn good time doing it."

"Glee is a family, after all," added Mercedes. "Are we dysfunctional and argumentative? Hell yeah. But when stuff goes down, we're all in it together. And you're officially part of the family now, so deal with it."

Harry smiled and rubbed the side of his head, not sure what to say but touched all the same. _Family_. That had a nice ring to it.

* * *

><p>The wedding was going to be a cozy, family-and-friends sort of affair. It was quite fitting for the cozy, every-friend-of-ours-is-family sort of people that the Hudmel clan was. The New Directions had spent the better part of a week whipping up the most fantastically sappy and happy set list and choreography that they could, and had even plotted a performance on the side in secret to surprise the one and only Kurt Hummel. Heaven knew that Kurt needed the gesture. The kid was strong, but he wasn't steel, and anybody with a pair of eyeballs and a few neurons could tell that he was getting it bad at school. Harry had done his best to stay near Kurt, realizing that he was one of the few people in the school that the jock brigade would back down from, but he couldn't be there at all times, and living undercover in the Muggle world put a severe damper on the amount of protective magic that he could use. So he was forced to sit back in classes, fully aware of the fact that somewhere out there in the school, Kurt Hummel was being terrorized. It drove him mad. It drove the rest of the New Directions mad as well. Even Puck, the royal arsehole, seemed genuinely sorry about the situation.<p>

The phone rang just as Harry was making a mad dash for the closet, trying to reach for the suit that he'd bought for the occasion, under Mercedes' and Kurt's special supervision. He cursed, skidded, tried to turn the other way, and promptly tripped over his own dress shoes. Merlin, he hated formal affairs. He pulled his wand from the pocket of his jeans and gasped "Accio phone," a split second before the stupid thing went to the answering machine.

"Harry?" It was Hermione.

"Oh God, Hermione, I'm sorry, but this is _so_ not a good time. Can I call you back tonight?" he asked, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear while rummaging for the wedding present.

"No, Harry, you need to listen." Her voice was almost…frightened. He hadn't heard her like that in months. About four months, to be precise.

He took a deep breath, put aside the present, and sat cross-legged on the floor. "I'm listening."

"You know the war trials, right?"

"Obviously." Harry had stuck around just long enough to testify on the behalf of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy before splitting for Lima.

"And you remember Yaxley, right?"

"Vividly." Yaxley was a horror, a brute, and directly responsible for not only the deaths of thousands upon thousands of Muggle-borns during Voldemort's brief control of the Ministry, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione's extended period of homelessness during the harrowing hunt for the Horcruxes.

"He disappeared."

"What?"

"His trial. Enough of the most important evidence was missing that he could claim an Imperius, so he appealed for an extension to his trial. During the interim, he just…_disappeared_ from Azkaban. Nobody knows how or why, but without the dementors keeping the place on lockdown anymore, it's not completely safe anymore. Even with the best of security."

"Oh, fuck."

Hermione didn't even have the heart to complain about the profanity. "Nobody knows where he went. There's not a trace of him."

"So all of this means…"

"That you need to watch your back. On his own, maybe he couldn't hurt you, but there's more Voldemort supporters out there. Just waiting."

A cold trickle went down the nape of Harry's neck, one that he'd never thought he'd feel again. "Okay, Hermione," trying keep the nervousness from colouring his voice. "I'll be careful."

"Don't do anything rash," she said, and her voice was almost begging. "We thought we lost you once. Me and Ron, we can't go through that again."

"Okay."

"And don't panic! That's even worse, that's the worst thing that you could do right now. We don't even know for sure if revenge is something that he's interested in. Just keep your nose clean."

"I know, I know," he said, trying and failing to fake nonchalance. "I'll call again tonight, okay? I should probably talk to Ron about his."

"You should," agreed Hermione. "So stay safe." She hung up the phone with a soft _click_. Harry briefly contemplated screaming, but decided against it. He'd survived Voldemort, hadn't he? He'd faced death itself. A lone Death Eater was nothing. But he double-checked the wards on the door before he left. Just to be safe.

* * *

><p>A dusky, sultry sort of evening was draping itself over the Lima sky. As Harry looped his tie over his head, he felt the last of his blind panic trickle away. Hermione was right. Yaxley was out there, somewhere, maybe plotting, maybe squatting in a cellar eating rats. Who knew? Either way, there was no use going berserk until something actually happened. Until then, he just had to enjoy the moment, and be particularly careful not to use magic and cause some sort of international incident. Which, given his track record, might actually work out to be a tall order. Ah, well.<p>

Rachel came dashing up to him, disturbing his oddly placid demeanor. "You've warmed up your voice, right? We absolutely _can't _afford to have you crack today, not for something important like this."

"Yeah, yeah, I did a few scales," said Harry, wondering how on Earth she managed to clomp around in heels that high. But then, some people would go to any lengths to compensate for their height.

She skimmed her fingers over his suit jacket pulling it straight and smoothing out little wrinkles. "Oh, good, you already know how to do a tie. Thank God, me and Kurt have been needing to make rounds to fix everyone up."

Harry shrugged. "I guess something good came out of going to a boarding school."

"I don't think any of these boys have put on a tie in their life all by themselves," said Rachel, completely ignoring him. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Especially Noah. Speaking of….hey, Noah!" To Harry's amusement or horror (he couldn't decide which) Rachel scooped an exceptionally rumpled looking Puck out of thin air. "Put this buffoon's tie on properly for him, if you please," ordered Rachel, pulling the wrinkled bit of silk off of Puck's neck and throwing it at Harry. "And no fighting!" she yelled back, as she dashed off to perform her twenty-third sound check of the evening.

There was an awkward pause, during which Harry held the tie limply in his hands and Puck only stared at him.

"So…Noah, is it? Really now?" Harry asked, finally breaking the silence. He wasn't entirely able to keep the devilish smirk off of his face.

"If you don't shut up, I'll take that tie out of your hands and personally strangle you with it," threatened Puck.

"Now, now," said Harry, his voice mockingly soothing. "Rachel dearest told us not to fight." He reached up and looped the tie over Puck's head.

"It's not a fight if I curb stomp your ass."

Harry pulled the knot in the tie with unnecessary force, yanking Puck forward, so that their faces were only inches apart. "Try me," he breathed, relishing in the sudden rush of recklessness. "I dare you." He held Puck there for another few seconds, for added emphasis, before releasing the tie. Puck's face was a brilliant red.

"You are such a bastard," muttered Puck. He smoothed the tie down, more to distract himself than anything. "You keep going around like you're King Asshole, but the only thing that you've proven yourself any good at is tying ties."

Harry shrugged. "British boarding school."

Puck looked down his nose at Harry. "You would be the type. Nancy little prep school bitch, hiding behind the bigger boys."

It was Harry's turn to go red. "Prep school bitch? I said _boarding _school, not prep school. Clean your ears."

"I see you don't deny being a bitch, though." There wasn't any kind of real venom in Puck's voice, though. It was almost…banter.

"Call me whatever the hell you want. It doesn't give you any better of a chance at taking me in a fight."

"Come at me, then, Scarface."

"I'd rather not get your blood all over this brand new suit, thanks." Harry popped the collar on his suit jacket.

"You sound like Hummel."

"_You_ sound jealous."

"Of what?"

"Of the fact that I make this suit look fantastic and you look like you just rolled out of dumpster."

Puck patted his own suit. "I resent that. I think I look pretty damn fine, if I do say so myself. Even if my guns aren't showing." He flexed, just to prove his own point.

"Don't pop a button on the jacket," Harry warned him.

"Please," said Puck. "I've got abs like your skinny ass wouldn't believe."

Harry looked Puck up and down, contemplating. Puck, for all his ridiculous posturing, wasn't bad on the eyes. At all. Especially in a suit. He'd sooner die than admit that, though, so he merely raised an eyebrow and said: "Keep dreaming."

"Noah! Harry!" yelled Rachel, interrupting what was turning into a dangerously friendly moment. "We're going on in ten! Don't you dare screw this up!"

Puck and Harry exchanged a significant glance with each other before shuffling off toward the rest of the group, united in exasperation. They hadn't agreed about a lot during their short period of acquaintance, but they could certainly agree that Rachel Berry was often far more trouble than she was worth.

* * *

><p>What on earth does one call this pairing? Parry? Huck? Ah, the mysteries of life.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Well, goodness me. I think last chapter I wrote finally, _finally _started getting to the sexual tension side of things. Which is terrifying, I've never written this sort of thing before. Ugh. Criticism in that arena will most certainly be wholeheartedly appreciated.

* * *

><p>Puck sat in the dim light of the reception hall by himself, content to observe and laugh to himself as everyone else spun drunkenly and dizzily around the dance floor and made utter fools of themselves. He peered into the bottom of the champagne flute in front of him that was filled with cider rather than champagne. Not that anyone else knew that. He could feel the pointed stare of Mrs. Fabray prickling the back of his neck. <em>Probably wishing I would spontaneously combust<em>, he thought. The woman had never forgiven him for knocking up Quinn. To be fair, if any guy tried to knock up his kid sister Sarah by the time she hit high school, he'd personally castrate them, shred them up piece by piece, and feed the bits to his next door neighbor's Chihuahua. That didn't make Mrs. Fabray anything less of a snarling hypocrite, though.

Puck glanced up to see Kurt Hummel twirling around the dance floor with Finn, his great, oafish, brand-new brother, and couldn't suppress the tiniest of smiles. The both of them had been very grouchy and lonely for a very long time. Now they had one big family unit that could love each other and torment one another for a very long time to come. And maybe the Hummels would teach Finn would finally grow a pair. Lord knew Kurt probably had more balls than Finn Hudson, who was a big old softie when you got right down to it.

"One big happy family," said a voice in his ear, echoing his thoughts. Potter dropped into the empty chair next to Puck. Puck briefly contemplated shoving Potter off of the chair, but found, to his surprise, that he didn't really feel much like fighting with the guy anymore. He chalked it up to not wanting to ruin the Hudson-Hummel wedding extravaganza. They probably wouldn't take kindly to it if he shoved Potter's face in the punch bowl, he reasoned.

"Adorable, isn't it?" said Puck, unusually mild. He gestured at Brittany and Santana who sailed by together, usual inhibitions apparently gone for the occasion.

There was a little half-smile on Potter's face. "She tries hard, that one, doesn't she?" he said, nodding at Santana. "But when she gets that stick out of her arse and stops trying to scare everyone, she's okay." Puck wasn't sure if there was something significant in the way that Potter said that, or if it was just imagination acting up.

He shrugged. "It's Brittany that works the real magic."

Potter paused for a minute, watching Brittany and Santana's very close, very hands-y dance. "Yeah, I guessed as much." That smirk was back.

"So that's why you turned Santana down," said Puck, having a rare brainwave. "You gave it up in the name of hot lesbian love. That's a good man," he said, punching Potter in the shoulder.

Potter shrugged, his smirk slowly morphing into something that may or may not have been a real grin. "I try."

"To be honest, though, I don't think you're missing out on much," said Puck.

"What?"

"Santana." Puck rubbed his chin. "We kinda had a friends-with-benefits sort of thing a while back. Except…"

"Let me guess. The benefits weren't all that great when she was spending the whole time wishing that you had ladybits," Potter finished for him.

Puck laughed. "Shit, Potter. I don't know if I should pound your ass or not, but it's true."

"It's Harry, to you," said Potter. "The only people I call by their surnames are people that I'd like to toss out the window, and you're actually turning out to be kind of tolerable."

"Please. Like you could toss me out a window if you tried. I've got years of football training behind these guns."

Potter-_no, Harry_ looked unimpressed. "Football players are supposed to be intimidating?"

"Yeah! None of that soccer shit," he said, realizing why Harry looked so skeptical. "Like, brutal, sweaty, man-crushing American _football_."

Harry pretended to pick at his nails. "Sounds homoerotic to me."

Puck opened his mouth, and then shut it. He was so off his game, he didn't even notice the double entendres coming out of his own mouth. _How lame was that_? He pulled one of those funny pastel green dinner mints out of the crystal bowl in the center of the table, to buy time. "Hummel was on the team for a while," he said, trying to distract Harry.

Harry, most unfortunately, didn't seem any less amused. "Yeah, Mercedes already told me all about his stint on the team. She showed me the YouTube videos, in case you were wondering about that."

The blood drained out of Puck's face. "She didn't."

"She did."

"NO!"

"Single Ladies, Puck? Really?"

"Tanaka made us do it!"

"Mercedes showed me which one was you. You were pretty into for someone who was _forced_ to dance."

Puck threw his hands up in the air, feeling cornered. "You do all kinds of crazy shit when you're on a sports team, okay? You wouldn't understand."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I think I would, actually."

"Oh, really?"

"I was on a team back at boarding school. Did pretty decently, too, not to brag or anything," said Harry, playing with the end of the enormous white satin bow attached to the back of his chair. "Until I got banned."

"Banned? What'd you do, mouth off at the coach?" Puck was encountered by a vivid mental image of Coach Tanaka, foaming at the mouth, and a very unimpressed Harry ignoring him in favor of having a philosophical discussion with the water boy.

"I got in a fistfight."

"Sore loser, huh?" Puck stuffed another dinner mint in his mouth. They actually didn't taste that awful.

"Nah. We won the game. The other team, though, yeah, they were sore losers."

"How so?"

Harry shrugged. "Insults. Whatever. The usual. Regularly speaking, I'd just ignore it, but the prick in question had a go at my mum."

Puck stared. "I didn't have you pegged as a mama's boy." He made a mental note never to fuck the hypothetical Mrs. Potter. Even if she was hot. For one, he had cooled it on the cougar-chasing by choice. Also, Harry stood a pretty good chance of actually doing some damage if he had a reason to get genuinely angry at Puck.

Harry gave another funny little shrug. "I might've been."

"Might've been?"

"She died when I was about one."

Puck felt the bile rise in his throat. Yeah, he hoped that thought about fucking a hypothetical Mrs. Potter didn't come back to visit him. "Oh, shit man-I had no idea-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Harry cut him off with a wave of his hand. "It's fine. How were you supposed to know she's gone?"

"I really am sorry." Puck was subdued, for once.

"I know you are," Harry nodded absently. They lapsed into silence, Puck cleaning the little crystal bowl of dinner mints and Harry watching the dancers with a definite sense of detachment.

Puck eventually got bored, and turned to Harry to ask if he wanted a champagne flute of cider. Harry's face, to his surprise, had an expression of abject horror spreading across it. "What is it?" Puck asked, shaking his shoulder.

Harry ducked his head, looking ready to puke. "I don't know why Jacob Ben Israel's here or how got in here in the first place, but I hope he knows that there are children in this reception hall."

Puck followed Harry's line of vision, only to promptly recoil in disgust. "Holy shit. I don't even want to know where he learned to dance like that."

"Probably those dirty films he watches while fantasizing about Rachel."

"Poor girl," said Puck, feeling sympathy for Rachel for possibly the first time in his life. "Oh, look, she noticed he's here."

Harry started laughing. "Look at her face. I think she noticed the dancing, too."

"She looks like she's going to give birth to a whale."

Harry abruptly stopped laughing. "Merlin, I need brain bleach now."

"What?"

"Rachel. Berry. Giving birth. To a whale."

Puck turned a delicate shade of green, and got up to refill his champagne glass.

* * *

><p>The microwave dinged. Puck pulled a hot pocket out, biting into it, burning his tongue, and not even caring. It'd been a lousy day. Kurt Hummel, despite the best efforts of himself, Finn, Sam, Mike, and even Harry, had transferred out of McKinley to some lame private school. Something to do with Karofsky, they had gathered. The Glee guys had done their best to protect Hummel from the little (okay, so Karofsky wasn't exactly <em>little<em>) shit, but the problem was, there were more people than just Karofsky out to make Hummel's life miserable, and their Glee honor guard of five could really only do so much up against an entire, seething hotbed of prejudice and hatred. Hummel had teared up a bit when he made his big announcement, babbling something about really, really wishing that he didn't have to leave New Directions and polyester blazers and people who would actually, willingly back him up. Most of the dudes would deny it on pain of death, but Puck was pretty sure they had teared up too.

Puck didn't know why the whole affair made him feel so down in the dumps. Maybe it was guilt. He'd definitely done his share of Hummel-tormenting, pre-Glee. There was the great pee balloon incident of '09, followed up by the lawn furniture escapade. And yeah, maybe Finn had taken part in these things too, and hell, maybe most of it had been other people's idea, but it still didn't really excuse them. If he was Kurt Hummel, he would have kicked all of their asses a very long time ago. Of course, if he was Kurt Hummel, he'd probably be more concerned about causing damage to his perfect replica Burberry Prorsum coat.

He heard the pattering of soft footsteps behind himself, and a sniffling noise. He turned, and there was his little sister Sarah, dressed up like Martha Washington with big, fat tears leaking out of her enormous hazel eyes. A cruel realization hit Puck like a ton of bricks. "Tonight's your school play," he said. He slapped a hand to his forehead.

"And Mom's not home yet. She said she'd come for this. She promised she'd save the overtime for another day, and come watch me in the play." Sarah's voice was slowly but surely rising in volume and Puck could sense a veritable hurricane in the coming.

"Oh, sweet Jesus…uh, I'll take you then. If Ma doesn't show up in five minutes, I'm taking you."

"How?" Sarah's eyes were still watery and bloodshot, and she glared at him from under her powdered wig. "They took away your driver's license, remember?"

_Well, shit. _He'd forgotten. He performed a quick mental calculation. It took about five minutes to walk down to the mini mart from where they were, and the local elementary school was a block or two down. It wasn't too late yet, the sky was still shot with orange and gold, and he'd probably be able to beg a ride home out of one of the moms there if Sarah gave a good enough puppy face. "I'll walk you. But we gotta leave now, if you want to make it on time."

Sarah perked up a bit. "So you're gonna watch me, right? Even though I have to hold hands with that gross Connor Worthington, because Mrs. Brown made him give the George Washington monologue."

Puck smiled in spite of himself. "Of course I am. You're the star of the show, runt." Sarah scowled and slapped his elbow, but he knew her well enough to tell that aggression was her way of communicating that she was thankful.

* * *

><p>Puck was really, really regretting his juvie stint, even more than he'd been regretting it a week ago. The wind was colder than wind should have any right to be, and while Sarah had snagged an enormous, fluffy crocheted shawl thingy from their mother's closet to add to her outfit, he'd gone out the door with the football team hoodie. He was wishing he'd worn a coat, he was wishing he could drive, and more than anything else he was wishing that he had a functional mother.<p>

He wrapped an arm around Sarah's side as they shuffled past the mini mart. He couldn't wait to get to the school already. They were in a pretty safe area of town, but that didn't mean there wasn't a few vicious perverts stalking around somewhere in the bushes, and if he got knocked out it wasn't like there was any kind of Boo Radley hiding behind the mini mart to be Sarah's knight in shining armor.

Almost as if on cue, of all people, Harry Potter walked out of the mini mart. He stopped in his tracks, almost dropping his bag when he caught sight of Puck. "Puck? And…uh…"

"Martha Washington," supplied Sarah cheerily.

"Pleased to meet you?" Harry looked baffled.

"This runt is Sarah," said Puck, patting her powdered wig fondly. "My baby sister. Sarah, this is Harry."

"A Glee guy, right?" she said shrewdly. She was sharp, for a little kid.

"Care to fill me in on why you're just wandering around Lima around nightfall with your younger sister wearing a Martha Washington outfit?"

"Puck's taking me to the school play," Sarah informed him. "And I'm the star of the show."

"I'm sure you are," said Harry. "But I don't think the star of the play should be running around in the cold near dark."

Sarah shrugged. "Mom was supposed to take us, but she never came home. And Puck's not allowed to drive. So he's walking me."

Puck shifted uncomfortably, wondering how much of his home life Harry was able to guess at, and if he was about to be unkindly judged for it. For a beat, Harry's face had a smooth, unreadable expression. Until: "I guess I'll be giving you two a ride, then." He indicated the modest black Toyota parked only a few feet off.

"Really?" Sarah squeaked.

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't give the star of the show a ride?"

Sarah clapped her hands, and raced off to the car.

"You don't have to do this," said Puck in an undertone.

"Of course I do." Harry rolled his eyes. "You think I'm just going to drive off and let you and your sister risk getting mugged? Plus, your lips are turning blue."

"Shut up," said Puck, sliding into the shotgun seat as Harry turned the key in the ignition and cranked up the heater. Truth be told, though, he'd never been more thankful in his life.

* * *

><p>Puck and Harry both sat on blue plastic chairs near the back of the elementary school cafeteria, clapping politely as a miniature Abraham Lincoln finished his stilted monologue. Puck leaned over and whispered to Harry, "I mean it. You really didn't have to."<p>

"Merlin, mate, I know _you_ think I didn't. But I think I did. What kind of scumbag would leave a guy and his little sister out in the cold?"

Puck let out a gusty sigh as the entire fourth grade class returned to the stage for their closing song. "I owe you, dude. I really do. But can I ask…one more favor?"

"That entirely depends on the favor."

"Just don't tell anyone back at Glee, yeah?"

Harry didn't say anything, only flicked inquisitive eyes at him.

"They're going to get their noses in my business. Trust me, I've known Rachel Berry from temple for years, and she's a dog with a freakin' bone when she gets a hold of other people's affairs. She thinks she can do better than anyone else, and I really don't want to think about what kind of a mess she'd make in my life if she tried."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm good at secrets, so trust me; nobody else is going to be hearing about his."

"Good. And besides, what kind of self respecting badass watches a play about the presidents of the United States?"

"I do," said Harry. The children's chorus finished, and he stood up with the motley assortment of parents to applaud.

"You keep telling yourself that," Puck shot at him, making sure to clap extra loud for Sarah's sake.

They both wound their way to the front of the crowd to retrieve Sarah. As soon as they got to the foot of the stage, she leapt into Puck's arms. "Did you see me? You saw me right. I was good, wasn't I?" Her wig had fallen off in her excitement.

"You were good," Puck assured her, ruffling her hair.

"I was good, right Harry?"

"Absolutely brilliant," he said, and for once, there wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

"Sarah, dear, is this your family?" said a very warm sort of voice from behind Puck.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Brown!" Sarah gave a jaunty sort of wave.

"I'm Sarah's teacher," Mrs. Brown explained unnecessarily. "And, you are?"

"Noah Puckerman, miss," said Puck, offering his own hand and ignoring Harry's amused snort at his full name. "Her older brother."

"She talks about you a lot," said Mrs. Brown, looking appraisingly at Puck. He attempted a nonchalant shrug. She turned to Harry, who was hovering just behind them, unsure. "And this is? Your other brother?"

"Yep, because the family resemblance is definitely there," said Harry, with a cheery sort of sarcasm that somehow managed not to be offensive.

Mrs. Brown flushed a bit. "Oh. Your..Um…partner, then?"

Harry immediately went a spectacular shade red, and Puck choked. "No!"

"I can most certainly assure you that Noah here isn't gay," cut in yet another voice. Puck turned to see their interrupter. Well, if it wasn't Mrs. Howard. He vaguely remembered her as the bitchier of the bunch of pool cleaning customers he'd had a summer or so back.

"Uh, hey, Mrs. Howard," he said, shifting uncomfortably. He was trying desperately not to think about her turquoise string bikini.

"Lovely to see you, Noah," she said. It was taking a considerable amount of effort to keep from clocking her, for using that name with him. "Looking after your baby sister, I see?"

Puck wrapped a protective arm around Sarah's side. "Yeah, that's right."

"Better than you've been looking after your own daughter?" He could tell she'd been waiting for the chance to throw that little barb out.

Mrs. Brown's eyebrows shot up past her flat ironed brown bangs. "Your daughter? You have a daughter?" Her eyes flicked to the high school sweatshirt he was wearing, and she was probably mentally guessing at his age.

Puck could feel his blood pressure ticking upward, at the mention of Beth. Harry seemed to sense danger brewing, because he hooked an arm through Sarah's elbow and slung an arm around Puck's back. "Yes, well, pleased to meet you all but Mrs. Puckerman said that dinner's waiting at home for these two, so we'll be going now." Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and steered Sarah and a seething Puck toward the door.

* * *

><p>Puck does seem like the kind of guy who'd be super adorable with a little sister, doesn't he?<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I have decided, apropos nothing, that Potterman is the best name for this pairing, mostly because it doesn't sound like an awkward name of a real person. Soooooo much love and appreciation for everyone who reviewed! The good reception continues to amaze me. Oh, and in case anyone here didn't already know it, I don't own Harry Potter or Glee. I just have a deep appreciation for both of them.

* * *

><p>Harry listened to Sarah chattering happily about her star performance in "The Presidents of the United States", nodding and inserting an "absolutely" or "brilliant" whenever necessary, but his brain was a million miles away. Probably in the same ballpark as Puck's brain. Puck was slumped in the shotgun seat, glowering. Mercedes and Kurt had warned him that Puck had a pronounced tendency to shut down and revert back to a petulant four-year-old's state of mind whenever anyone made a crack at either his daughter, or the fact that he was a father.<p>

Deciding it was best to let Puck stew a bit, he glanced back at Sarah. "Which one is your place?"

"That one." She pointed ahead to a neat little apartment complex. He pulled up to an empty spot and helped Sarah out of the car, a still uncomfortably silent Puck hovering next to her. Harry took a moment to scan the dark parking lot before following them in the building. He didn't really expect a Death Eater to jump them right there, but it didn't hurt to look. Ever since Hermione's call, he'd been walking around with a faint nervous buzz at the back of his mind. It wasn't enough to make him really and truly afraid, but it was enough that he kept his wand with him during every waking moment, and constantly tested the protective enchantments that he'd placed on his apartment. If he started spending even more time with the Glee clubbers, he'd have to see to it to add the subtlest enchantments that he could to their houses. On an off chance that Yaxley ever did show up, he'd likely take the time to learn who Harry friends were. The Death Eaters, after all, had had ample time and opportunity to learn that while Harry didn't give much of a damn about his own safety, he would really and truly die for the people he cared for, if that was what needed to happen.

Sarah swiped the keys out of Puck's pocket and fumbled with the lock on the door, as Puck was still occupied glaring at the wall as if it had given him personal offence. He followed them both into the apartment tentatively, not sure if he should walk in or not, as he hadn't been explicitly invited. Puck didn't seem to care enough to order him out, though, so it seemed okay. Sarah rolled her eyes. "My big brother is too rude to tell you so, but there are drinks in the fridge if you want any. Are you staying over?"

"Until your mother gets back, I guess," said Harry, shifting uncomfortably.

Sarah offered him a brilliant smile. "Thanks for trying, but you don't need to if you don't want to. You might end up waiting a while."

Harry shrugged. "It's Friday night. I don't have to get up tomorrow, and it's not like I'm missing anything right now."

She gave him an odd look. "You actually care about us, don't you?"

"Yes?" He didn't know what he was supposed to say to that.

She said nothing, only stared at him for another minute before heading off to brush her teeth. He was glad when she did. She was so old for her age, and that bit of steel glinting in her eyes was uncannily like McGonagall.

Puck waited until she disappeared into the bathroom until he finally spoke up, his voice a low growl, and Harry couldn't help but jump a little. "God, I can't stand it when they talk like that."

"Like what?"

"About my daughter. About _Beth._ Like she was some kind of fucking mistake. Which she isn't, she's goddamn perfect."

Harry remained silent, sensing that Puck needed to vent more than anything else.

"And then they keep going on like it was my fucking decision to let her go. It sure as hell wasn't, I wanted to keep her more than anything. The ones who don't act like I'm some horrible fuckup for having to let her go, they bitch that I'm being stupid harping on about it and wishing I could have taken care of her." He paused to take a deep breath, and his red-rimmed eyes fixed Harry with a desperate, almost pleading look. "I'm not being stupid, am I? It's not stupid shit to want to take care of your child, is it? It's not stupid shit to wish you could have been a good father?"

"God, no, it isn't stupid shit," Harry half whispered. "Not by a long shot."

Puck sank onto the couch in the living room and put his head between his hands, looking thoroughly beaten. Harry sat down next to him, careful not to move too fast or invade his space.

"Jesus, I'm tired," Puck told him. His shoulders shook a bit. "I'm really fucking tired of having to be nice. Nobody gets it about anything. My mom. Juvie. Beth. Nobody fucking gets it."

"They're sheltered," Harry said bluntly. It was the truth. "The worst pain some of them have ever had is a hangnail."

Puck gave him a direct, almost challenging stare. "_You_ seem to get it. Why is that?"

"I grew up with a useless uncle and aunt. I've been on trial. I had a godson, but they told me I was too young for legal custody. It isn't rocket science."

"You never said anything about an aunt and uncle."

Harry pretended to pick at a nail. "Because they were useless shit, that's why. And I'm glad to be shot of them."

"What about your dad?"

"Dead."

Puck swore. "Jesus. Do you live alone or something?"

"Pretty much."

Puck was silent for a moment, until his shoulders began to shake. For a panicky moment, Harry thought he was starting to cry, and he didn't know if he should run away or get a box of tissues or what before he realized that Puck was actually laughing. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry," said Puck, calming himself down a bit. "It's just, we're kind of both screwed up, aren't we?"

"Speak for yourself."

Puck stared back at him, his expression deadpan.

"Oh, fine," Harry admitted. "Just a tiny bit."

* * *

><p>Puck had tucked Sarah into bed and turned on the television to some old Sci-Fi film about mutated crocodiles, and they had both sat down on the couch with a bowl of microwave popcorn. The whole thing was weirdly domestic, like a scene out of the Weasley family house, and Harry didn't even know what to think. It was probably about two thirty in the morning now, and Puck, although he had tried valiantly to watch the door, was nodding off on the couch. Harry leaned his own head back against the pillows, but didn't fall asleep. That year of constant guard duty shifts outside the tent had taught him to keep his eyes open when he needed to.<p>

He glanced over at Puck, who was now snoring lightly. It was sort of endearing. He wasn't drawn up in rage, or trying to look like he didn't care, or trying to start a fight, or anything, really. He just _was._ A faint scuffling came from the door, and he tore his eyes away from Puck, sitting bolt upright on the couch. More scuffling. Puck was blinking awake, now, and getting to his feet. Heading to the door. Putting his hand on the handle.

"Wait," Harry said, leaping up, his hand drifting toward his pocket. It could be Mrs. Puckerman. It could be Yaxley. It could be anyone.

Puck peered through the peephole. "Relax, Harry. It's definitely my Ma." There was something like embarrassment mixed up with relief in his voice. He pulled back the bolt and opened the door, and a very drunk woman stumbled into his arms.

"David?" she asked, blinking glazed eyes up at Puck. Her hair was brown, her sensible coat had something that smelled strongly of whiskey dribbled down the front, and she was missing her left shoe.

Puck evidently seemed to have heard this before. "Not David, Mom. Noah."

"Noah?" Her eyes were still blank. She pushed herself out of his arms, tried to walk to the kitchen sideways, and ended up tripping. Harry's seeker reflexes kicked in, and he caught her just before she hit the floor. She was passed out cold.

"This always happens." Puck sounded more tired than frustrated. "She goes straight for about a month, pays all the bills, doesn't touch the bottle. Then she runs short on cash, decides to work overtime, gets tired, and stops by the local bar for 'just a bit, to take the edge off' before going home. And then she does come home. At two in the morning." He picked up her legs, and they both hauled her off to the master bedroom in a sort of fireman's carry.

They returned to the main room in silence, Harry picking the purse up off the floor and putting it on the counter, and Puck moving the single shoe remaining to the pile of other shoes by the door.

"Don't get me wrong, she's a good person," said Puck, out of nowhere. He seemed to want to explain things to Harry. "She just gets…"

"Lonely," finished Harry.

Puck gave a halfhearted sort of shrug. "Yeah." It wasn't stated outright, but between the lines of his words, Harry could read a plea to keep quiet about everything.

* * *

><p>"No word yet on Yaxley?" Harry said.<p>

"Nope," said Ron, regretful.

Harry let out a deep sigh, and gave his wand a lazy sort of twirl. Snowflakes started coming down from the ceiling and dusting the carpet. "Merlin, this is driving me crazy."

"I know, mate, I know." Ron sounded sympathetic. "We thought this was all over, but we have to go back to watching our arses now."

"You and Hermione _are_ being careful, right?" Harry asked.

"Don't worry! We always use protective spells, and a condom if we don't have time for that-"

"Merlin, shut up!"

"Sorry. Couldn't resist." He could almost see the grin in Ron's voice.

"No, I mean, you are watching your backs, right?" Harry pulled nervously at one of the nubs on the throw blanket covering the couch. "Everyone just assumes that they're out to get me, but they'd have just as much reason to want to exact revenge on you guys, or anybody else related to the Weasleys, really."

"Hermione already did say something to that effect," said Ron. "So we never go out alone, put some magical barriers around the Burrow. The usual, you know."

"Good."

"We just worry about you the most because you're by yourself right now. I mean, don't get me wrong, you're good, mate. We know you can take care of yourself. It's just that one to however many might decide to show up isn't exactly good odds."

"Point taken."

"You're making friends out there in the middle of nowhere, right?"

Harry snorted. "Yeah. I'm not a complete hermit yet."

"I think you should be watching their backs, too."

"I kind of figured that out for myself, thanks."

"Just reminding you is all," said Ron. "Call back tomorrow night? Hermione wants to make arrangements to come visit you."

"Already? We've been apart a few weeks, not a few months."

"You know how she is. Oh, and mum sends her love."

"Tell her the same."

Ron, never one for eloquence or drawn-out conversations, hung up after that. Harry was left to stare up at the cracks in the ceiling and ignore the growing snowdrift in his living room. For situation that was supposed to be a getaway, he was ending up with an awful lot to think on.

* * *

><p>"Thank God we have you," Mercedes was telling Harry, as they loaded up the bus to head off to sectionals. "With Kurt gone, if you hadn't been able to step in, we would've been one member short for competition.<p>

"Recruiting would have been fun."

"And would have ended in either a porta-potty lock in, or a nice grape-flavored slushie," Mike interjected from behind them.

"Oh, the beauty of William McKinley High," sighed Artie, as he headed off for the wheelchair lift.

"I just can't help but hate that McKinley asshole when they talk about him in history class," said Puck. "Like, even if they named this place something different, it would still be a hellhole, but you just can't help but be bitter, you know?"

"I didn't know you actually went to history class," said Tina. Half the Glee club look stunned.

"It's a good place for a nap," said Puck defensively.

"You obviously haven't been taking enough naps to justify showing up there if you've been hearing enough to remember names and facts."

"It's a subconscious thing! Like, the other day I had a dream that I turned into Abraham Lincoln and had to give the Gettysburg address at sectionals."

"So you remember the Gettysburg address, huh?" Mike was grinning.

Puck huffed and stomped into the bus. Clearly used to dealing with temper tantrums, the club carried about their business, ignoring both Puck and a simmering Rachel and Finn.

Harry dropped onto the seat next to Puck uninvited. At this point, both could admit that they were friends. The club still liked to watch them out of the corner of their eyes as if they still expected the two of them to be spoiling for a fight, and Harry really couldn't blame them for it, but for the most part, they took the newfound truce in stride.

"Mind filling me in on what's going on with Rachel and Finn? She's been glaring at him like she wants to stab his eyeballs out with the heel of her librarian's shoes," Harry said.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Trouble in paradise, apparently."

"One of them cheated?"

"Not really. Apparently Finn banged Santana, like, a year ago, but told Rachel he was a virgin."

"Ouch."

Puck scratched the side of his head. "According to Santana he's a bad lay anyway, and Finn said he didn't enjoy it and regrets it, so who the hell knows why Rachel's getting worked up?"

"Well, for starters, everyone and their mum knows that Santana thinks anyone who isn't Brittany is a bad lay-"

Puck gave a grin that was more of a leer.

"-and Rachel is old school romantic. She was probably dreaming of having a mutual first time with petals and scented candles the night after she wins her first stage Tony. And then, you know, there's the whole lying thing. Not the best way for Finn to get in her good graces."

"See, this is why I gave up relationships," said Puck cheerily, sticking a wad of chewing gum under the bus seat. "No hurt feelings. No drama."

"The sex usually isn't as good in the long run if you don't actually like the person," Harry pointed out.

Puck made a face. "One con. Versus, like, a laundry list of pros, I think I can live with it."

Harry shrugged. "As long as they don't wreck the show at sectionals, everyone will be okay."

* * *

><p>Some kind deity must have been smiling upon the proceedings, because as it transpired, Rachel and Finn didn't wreck the show. Oh, they came awfully close to it. The tension on stage was difficult to miss. But Sam and Quinn's lovely, if very vanilla duet stole the hearts of the judges, and Mike and Brittany as a dancing duo was more than enough to distract anyone with eyes. They got to see Kurt in action with the Dalton Academy Warblers, too. Harry had to admit that they actually weren't half bad. Even if they wore their uniforms on stage. Who the hell wore their uniforms on stage?<p>

"Who the hell wears their uniform on stage?" echoed Puck, as they were lined up on stage waiting for the verdict on sectionals.

"Kurt told me the pants make him feel like boiling kittens," cut in Mercedes.

"He's just mad because they aren't two sizes too small," said Rachel acidly. She was still in a bad temper.

Her mood was not improved when they ended up tying with the Warblers. The entire club spent the ride home edging as far away from her as possible.

* * *

><p>The next day, they handed Rachel the holiday decorating budget. Tina couldn't help but voice her concern that Rachel would show up with a box of matching tacky sweaters for everyone to wear, but no one else really cared. At least it shut her up for the time being. They were all scattered around the choir room, taking a much deserved break after the drama of sectionals.<p>

"Anyone got plans for the winter holiday?" Quinn asked, painting alternating nails red and green.

"Christmas party, Lima Heights style," said Santana, swiping the red lacquer from Quinn and starting on her own nails.

"Temple with my mom and sister I guess," Puck shrugged.

"I'll have cousins over to visit, which means Asian parties every night until the crack of dawn," Mike grumbled.

Tina planted a kiss on his cheek. "Don't worry; they'll have the karaoke machine like they always do, which means you get to show off."

"What about you, Harry?" asked Mercedes, busy going over a tottering stack of notes for midterms.

Well, that was a good question. Harry had forgotten that he had neither a Yule Ball nor Ron and Hermione to stick with this year. "Sit by myself, I guess. Feel bad that I never learned how to make a Christmas pudding."

"You're staying all alone?" Sam look horrified.

"No can do, dude," said Puck, speaking up. "It's the holidays. That's just sad, to stay home by yourself. I don't know if you're all weird about religion or what, but if you're not, you should totally come over to my place for Hanukkah dinners and stuff."

Everyone's jaws dropped so far Harry was pretty that he heard clicks. Harry hid his smile with effort. "Sounds good. It's a deal."

* * *

><p>Special internet cookies and love will be given to anyone who spotted the foreshadowing here. And no, I don't mean the obvious bits. Good luck!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Awww. Nobody caught the foreshadowing. And there was me, all ready to fire up the ovens and send over a batch of piping hot internet cookies. Ah, well. I still love you guys more than you can possibly know for actually investing some time in this little story of mine. Glee and Harry Potter are not mine, by the way. Just this little fanfic.

* * *

><p>Puck slid into the seat next to Harry during the after school Glee meeting. "You think you can teach me a semester's worth of English in an hour?"<p>

Harry glanced up from his composition notebook that was presumably filled with Physics notes. "English? What's there to teach about it?"

"Grammar. And commas. And poetic shit, I guess."

Harry tapped his nose with his pen. "You can't teach that kind of stuff. You just have to know it. You know?"

"No." Puck looked down at Harry's notes. It was an unintelligible jumble of squiggles and doodles and non sequiturs. "How do you even make decent grades?"

"Sheer dumb luck, and that nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me that I should probably finish that essay, even if it's an hour to third period and I haven't done shit."

Puck rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out. "You're still up for dinner at my place for the holidays, right?"

Harry didn't even look up from his notes. "Obviously. If I don't show up, your little sister will probably personally hunt me down and drag me in by the ear."

"What can I say?" Puck spread his hands. "Pig headedness runs in the family."

"Could've fooled me."

"Seems we fooled the entire Glee Club." Puck surveyed the choir room, whose inhabitants were still shooting Harry and Puck covert glances every few seconds. "I think they still expect me to shank you."

Harry finally looked up. "Give them a little credit. I don't think they expect you to kill anyone. They just didn't expect you to invite _me_, of all people, to a cosy little Hanukkah dinner."

Puck ran his hands over his mohawk. "Okay, I guess." He observed Sam flicking spitballs at Finn, and Artie patiently explaining the use of a number line to Brittany. "They're really not that bad."

Harry quirked his mouth into a half-smile.

"But my exam grades might be, if I don't like, study, or maybe look at the notes for the first time, or some shit." He snatched Harry's notebook and rifled through the dog eared pages, hoping to glean some sort of insight on particle wave duality.

"Since when do you care about exams?"

"Since I failed the eighth grade." Puck turned the notebook upside-down. It didn't improve the handwriting.

"Well, tough luck. I don't plan on failing either." Harry made a grab for the notebook. Puck made to catch his wrist, but Harry was fast, and swiped the notes out of his hand. He wasn't fast enough for Puck to miss the bizarre scars on the back of his hand, though.

"Dude, what's with your hand?"

"What? It looks fine to me." Harry held out his right hand and flexed it.

"Don't play stupid with me," Puck snorted and tugged on his left hand, pulling it up to eye level. _I must not tell lies_, it said, in curly, precise script. He could have mistaken it for notes penned on the back of his hand, if it wasn't for the faded pink of scar tissue. Puck swore. "What the hell is this?"

"What does it look like to you?" Harry snapped, trying to yank his wrist out of Puck's grip. Puck held on, though.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

"God, I have neither _issues_ nor a need for body modification, okay?"

Puck felt the blood drain out of his face. "Fuck. Then someone else did that to you? That's sick."

"Did I say that?"

"No, but you implied it, genius."

"Fine. You win." He couldn't tell if Harry's voice held annoyance or worry.

"Yes. I win. Now tell me, how'd you get this, then?" asked Puck, shaking Harry's wrist a bit. "And don't give me any bullshit about tripping and falling on a butcher knife, it's a goddamn _sentence _carved into your hand_._"

Harry took a deep, deep breath, and his face held an expression appropriate for experiencing an intense migraine. "Look, I don't want to lie to you, okay? So I'm going to tell you what I can. The thing is…I can't tell you everything."

Puck had figured as much. On occasion, when he'd probed a bit about Harry's past, or something about his childhood cropped up in a conversation, Harry left spaces between the answers. He knew that Harry wasn't lying to him, but he also knew that Harry was just throwing him breadcrumbs, and not all the information that he had. "Then just tell me what you can." He finally released Harry's hand.

Harry rubbed at his chin. "Merlin…I don't know how to word this…"

Puck waited patiently.

At length, Harry spoke again. "Alright, so I know that you're not the most political of fellows, but you've probably seen stuff on the news at least a little bit lately, right?"

Puck nodded.

"So you've probably heard about the situation back in England."

Puck nodded again.

"Yeah, so things were pretty rough for a while. The reports were all on things had just been spiraling out of control. The economy was pretty much in the loo. And they had to have mentioned that people were dropping left and right from some extremist gang that cropped up, right?"

"They mentioned the gangs," Puck confirmed. "The Death Eaters or something, right?"

"Yeah. The Death Eaters. Anyway, through no fault of my own-"

Puck raised in eyebrow in polite disbelief.

"-I got tangled up in some of those sorts of affairs. And somebody with more power than they should have had decided to teach me a lesson." Harry traced over the scars with his index finger.

"That's why you came here?"

"Partially." Harry leaned in closer. "And that's why you shouldn't mention anything, okay? I know they've been saying that things miraculously cooled off and the gang dissolved, but all the same, it's likely not going to be a pretty thing if anyone from back home figures out that I'm here."

"I won't talk, I swear."

"You swear?" Harry's green eyes were fierce. "Not a word about Death Eaters?"

"Not a word." Puck was more earnest than he'd ever been in his life.

Harry leaned back and let out a gusty sigh. "Not a word," he repeated. He looked oddly tired. "I'm going to get the rest of the notes from Mercedes, okay?" He glanced back down at the notebook. "It seems I drew a pumpkin in blue ink instead of copying out the equation."

Puck watched him go with a potent mix of sympathy and curiosity. It just figured that Harry would have a nasty past involving gang warfare and paranoia. It was the initial reason he'd found the boy such a threat. It wasn't that he'd known that Harry had been tangled up in that stuff, really, but he'd picked up on the way Harry carried himself, a little tension in his shoulders and with eyes way older than seventeen. He'd seen that look back at juvie. The difference was, in Harry, it wasn't malicious or particularly dangerous seeming, only sad.

Santana loped over and took Harry's vacated seat. "You want some? Go get it."

"What the fuck are you on about?" Puck was genuinely confused.

She leaned over his shoulder so that her hot breath was tickling his ear. "Don't play stupid, Puckerman. Just send Aretha a thank-you note for picking out those jeans for Potter.

"Tell me what's up or get lost, Santana," he said, edging away from her.

"I know what someone checking out a piece of hot ass looks like, and that's exactly what you were doing not ten seconds ago when Wonder Boy left you."

"I wasn't," Puck spluttered. But a rather clear and accurate mental picture of what Harry's ass looked like in those jeans popped up, uninvited. Okay. So he was.

Santana seemed to know she had struck gold. "Damn, Puck. I wasted all that time hounding Hummel when I should have been laying all the Liberace jokes on you."

"Shut up." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded defensive. "A hot ass is a hot ass, and I can check out whoever I want."

"Oh, I think this is about more than just the ass."

"I don't…" He was planning a comeback, but he trailed off. He thought of that ass…and that sex hair… and those burning eyes, and every moment of heated banter between the two of them. _Fuck._

Santana smirked. She had correctly interpreted his silence as another point in her favor.

"Alright, so he's kind of smoking hot and everyone, including me, knows it. So what?"

"You heard me the first time. _Go get some._"

"But-"

"But nothing. And don't give me any of that sexuality denial bullshit. You're hot; he's hot, so go get wanky. For God's sakes, you're Puckerman, the town man whore. You can fuck anyone you want."

"But _how?_" he snapped, before he could stop himself.

Santana's expression was disbelieving. "I thought you knew all there was to know about sex, Puckerman? Or were you lying every time you said you fucked someone? You take tab A and insert in slot B-"

"Shut up. You know that's not what I meant." Puck shot a glare at her. "What I'm saying is that I can't just jump him. For starters, I don't know if he digs dudes."

"Did you get neutered or what?" Santana demanded. "Do what you always do!"

"What, clean his pool? I don't even know if he has a pool."

"You ass!" Santana looked halfway between laughing at him and slapping him. "Play the Grade-A sleaze that you are."

"You're telling me to…?"

"Flirt, Puckerman. Bring out your arsenal of double entendres that are so obvious they hardly function as a single entendre. Show off those ridiculous guns. God, just, do _something_. You can cut the goddamn sexual tension with a spoon, and I'm very bored by it."

Puck looked over to where Harry was sitting by Mercedes and laughing at some joke between the two of them, Physics completely forgotten. And hey, maybe lusting after Potter explained some of the things that had been going on in the past few weeks. Like the fact that he hadn't gotten laid, period, since he'd left juvie. No Cheerios, no PTA moms, not even some goody two-shoes from temple. Puck wasn't unduly worried by this new turn of events. He could totally work with bisexuality. Like he'd told Santana, a hot ass was a hot ass, and who was anyone in this cow town to stop him?

No, the problem was Harry himself. It was easy to seduce Cheerios. It was pathetically simple to quirk his little finger and make the cougars come running. Something told Puck that even if he pulled out his best bag of tricks, though, Harry probably wouldn't just jump in bed with him. Harry was different; a little prickly, a little brash, and he didn't take too kindly to being underestimated. Furthermore, Puck honestly didn't want to detonate their newfound truce. It was…kind of nice, having a friend who didn't bitch at him, didn't judge, and understood his situation.

He looked back at Santana, who was still draped over the chair next to him, tracing her lips with a single red-painted nail. She'd never looked more like a super villainess. Puck kind of wanted to clean her clock sometimes, but damn her, she was usually right.

There was a scuffle at the door and Puck glanced in that direction, jerked out of reverie. Mike Chang came running in with a great cheesy smile plastered across his face.

"Who died?" asked Finn.

"Sue Sylvester?" said Artie hopefully. Rachel flicked him in the back of the head.

"Nobody died," Mike assured them. "But I mentioned my cousins visiting, right? Well, they arrived from the airport and came straight here to pick me up, and I figured maybe they should meet you guys, because at any given time half the club is infesting my living room."

Tina, Brittany, and Finn did their best to arrange their faces into apologetic looks, and failed miserably.

"So meet my cousin!" he said, waving in a girl around their age with a sheet of shiny black hair rippling down her back. She gave an awkward sort of wave.

"So. Um. Hi." Her accent was distinctly Scottish sounding. "My name is-"

"Cho?" said Harry, from the corner with Mercedes. His expression was appropriate to having been clubbed over the head.

"Harry?" Her dumbfounded face matched his. In half a second Harry was up on his feet and Mike's cousin was strangling him in a hug, and holy shit was that _jealousy_ that was now needling Puck rather painfully?

"You guys know each other?" This was clearly news to Mike as well.

"We went to the same school back home," Harry explained, detangling himself.

"And…uh..."

"Dated," finished Cho cheerfully. Oh yeah, it was definitely jealousy eating Puck up from the inside. Santana was smiling at Puck knowingly. That asshole probably knew exactly what motions his brain was going through. Sometimes he really hated her.

Eyebrows had gone up all over the room and Harry rushed to reassure them, "Oh, don't worry, we ended it a _long_ time ago."

"Really. A long time ago." Cho nodded vigorously. It did absolutely nothing to improve her standing in Puck's eyes. Soon the club had swarmed over the both of them, peppering them about questions concerning co-ed boarding schools in Britain. Puck felt it would probably be better for everyone's well-being if he hung back, though. He wondered for a moment if his stand-offishness was a dead giveaway. The moment passed, though. Not every person in the room had a freakishly honed gaydar and unhealthy interest in other people's business like Santana. To everyone else, he would look like he was just being his grouchy self. So he picked at his guitar disconsolately and wallowed in equal parts irritation and self-pity.

Presently, another Chang cousin entered the choir room and the Glee Club was distracted. Harry and Cho drifted off to the corner, clearly absorbed in their own discussion. Puck may or may not have shifted in his seat for the purpose of hearing said conversation. Hey, it wasn't eavesdropping if they were talking right in front of him, was it?

"So this is where you ran off to then, when you mysteriously dropped off the face of the Earth, is it?" said Cho in an undertone.

"Don't you dare judge me," said Harry. He looked more than a little tired. "You saw how it was there. If it was you, would you be all keen on sticking around and getting stalked everywhere you went?"

"No," admitted Cho. "I'm not judging. It's just…a small town high school in America? Of all the places to pick, Harry!"

"That's kind of the whole point, you see? Who'd come looking for the Chosen One in Lima?"

Puck's forehead creased into a frown. The Chosen One? Was that some kind of Death Eater lingo?

"Well, if it's your decision, and you're happy with it, then I suppose it's okay," said Cho.

Harry gave her one of those half smiles. "And I shouldn't have to remind you to keep quiet about me, right?"

Cho rolled her eyes. "International Statute of Secrecy and all that, yeah."

Things were getting officially weird. They were talking like some kind of James Bond movie now, and Puck was so intensely curious now that he was completely forgetting to be jealous.

"You know," said Cho, after a lengthy pause. "I like being friends with you a whole lot better than dating you."

Harry seemed amused now. "I could say the same. Kind of pathetic it took a war to get us over being awkward around each other, isn't it?"

"Better late than never," said Cho, and they both moved back into the group of chattering teenagers, leaving Puck to ponder over this new gold mine of information.

* * *

><p>"So, you and Mike's cousin, huh?" said Puck in what he hoped was a very casual voice as he stopped by Harry's locker the next morning.<p>

Harry groaned and slammed his locker shut. "Dear _God_, not you too. Mercedes would not shut up about it for the entire two hours yesterday. Seemed to think it was _funny_." He scowled to punctuate his displeasure.

Puck was mildly alarmed. "Whoa, dude. Did I just step all over some kind of history that I don't know anything about?"

"Kind of."

"Care to enlighten me? Or is this another one of those things that you can't talk about?"

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he turned to head off to History, Puck falling in step next to him. "No, I can talk about this one."

Puck knew an editing pause when he heard one, but he let it go. At least Harry had explained the necessity of it to him. Sort of.

"We went to boarding school together, like I already mentioned. I fancied her for a year or two, nothing major. She just played sports and stuff and I thought that was pretty hot."

Puck hoped for a split second that the "sports being hot" rule would apply to guys too.

"Anyway, in about the fourth year, I finally got the guts to make a move. The thing was, she was already dating this bloke that I already knew and was semi-friendly with."

"Ouch." Puck valiantly attempted to fake sympathy.

"And then…um, at the end of the year, through a series of unfortunate circumstances that once again, I can't talk about, he was murdered. Right there, right in front of me, and they almost killed me too. I brought his body back to his parents."

Puck stopped dead in the hallway and gaped at Harry.

"Me and Cho were both really fucked up in the year after that. We got together, yeah, but we were both obviously guilty and confused and it really wasn't a healthy thing, so we broke it off fast."

"Okay. Wow. Don't take this the wrong way, but your life is starting to sound seriously fucked up."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not taking it the wrong way. It's true."

Puck gave him an encouraging pat on the arm all the same when they walked into History. "Come on. We just gotta sit through today's review, tomorrow's exams, and then we chill out for the holidays."

Harry's face twisted into a smile as he chose his usual seat. "Whatever. Review day means it's a nap day."

"And they get on my case for not giving too fucks about school." He glanced to the front of the room, where the teacher normally presided. "And speaking of not giving two fucks, what the hell? Exams are tomorrow and Mrs. White just didn't show up, and now we've got a creepy muscle building substitute." He wasn't just being mean. The man at the teacher's chair really did have a thick, brutish kind of look about him.

Harry started to laugh, looked up, and immediately paled.

"What's wrong? He's not _that _creepy, I was joking," said Puck, worried.

Harry ignored him, though. His face was cycling through a wide variety of expressions before it finally settled on something like fear. And he was muttering something under his breath. It sounded a hell of a lot like "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck."

* * *

><p>Muahaha. Cliffhangers. I didn't mean to, honestly.<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

AN: God, I'm sorry for this being kind of late. I had it done and in the can two or three days ago, but FF WOULD NOT LET ME LOG IN ;aldskfja;sldkfj;asldkfj. And just so you guys know, this chapter terrified me. Like, actual plot? WOAH. I'm probably gonna leave it full of holes by accident, knowing me. But try to enjoy anyway. In case anyone forgot, I own neither Harry Potter nor Glee. There would have been a legit crossover a long time ago if I did.

* * *

><p>"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck," Harry couldn't help but mutter under his breath. His eyes darted back and forth. <em>No windows. One door behind me, one to the left front. Twenty three kids. Not enough time to clear them all out. Can't use magic unless he starts something first. Should have enough time for a shield charm to protect the kids, but a Reductor to collapse the ceiling could take it out. <em>His fingers were in his pocket, and he gripped his wand tightly. If it came to a stand-off, it would be up to him to react fast, or every single kid in that bleeding history class was good as dead. Including Puck. And for some reason that his adrenaline-fevered brain couldn't quite manage to process, that scared him quite as much as the idea of Ron or Hermione getting axed.

The one thing that comforted him was that Fenrir Greyback was clearly quite as surprised to see Harry playing a regular student in a regular high school as Harry was to see Greyback pretending to be a substitute teacher, and a Muggle one at that. It was a cold comfort, though. Greyback's brutish face was slowly shifting, from abject surprise to something calculating. There was nothing more frightening to Harry than a calculating look. His life had been ruined by grand plans. Voldemort's plans. The Wizarding World's plans. On occasion, Dumbledore's plans. He hated looking in people's eyes and not knowing what webs they were weaving around him.

He was vaguely aware of Puck prodding him in the side and shooting him questioning glances throughout the remainder of the class period, which turned out to be more of a study hall session than anything. Harry ignored him. Puck would thank him later if Greyback tried to blow up the classroom or eat one of the kids. And on the off chance that Greyback _didn't_ go on a murderous rampage within the hour, he'd make it up later. Buy him eight day's worth of Hanukkah presents and take his sister to the cinema and everything. At the moment, though, he had priorities. Like a man who was a Death Eater and war criminal and a malicious, pedophilic werewolf in a roomful of children, mere yards away from a person he'd grown to care about.

The hour dragged by slowly, torturously. Harry's eyes never left Greyback. Greyback's eyes never left Harry. Harry's hands never left his pocket, either, and Greyback's fingers were always drifting back to the folds of his grubby suit coat, like he was hiding something. At long last, the bell sounded. Harry didn't know if he should leave, or attack right there, or if the bell ringing was going to be some kind of cue to twenty other escaped convicts lying in wait around the school. Merlin, he'd forgotten how miserable it was, to be strung out like this and _not know._

"Potter," said Greyback, and half the class turned to look. Harry twitched, almost cracking and flinging out a curse at the sound of words, but he restrained himself. _Not a curse_, he told himself. _Just your name. _"A word after class." It was not a question, but an order. Was this an ambush? His mind was off to the races again. _Patrols in the hall, ready to ambush the kids when they leave. Magical land mines. Hidden Portkeys. _But then as suddenly as it had come, the panic drained out of him. The fear built up until suddenly it tipped, flipping his mind inside out, and nothing was left but calm determination. There was no one waiting in the halls. He was sure of. Just him and Greyback.

Puck hovered, unsure. "I can like, wait by the door-"

"Just go," Harry cut him off. Puck could take anyone in a Muggle fight, but he'd be no good in a wizard duel. Puck reluctantly slunk out of the room with the rest of the students, slipping out the door with a final backward glance.

Greyback took slow deliberate steps, and Harry matched him step for step, keeping the same amount of distance that there had been between them before. Greyback pressed the door closed. He didn't move for his wand. Neither did Harry. In the event that a duel actually happened, it was absolutely essential that Greyback threw the first curse, or Harry could face some prison time post Ministry investigation. And investigate they would, if there were any serious flare-ups of curses and battle magic.

And the silence stretched. Nerves fraying, Harry snapped "You harm a hair on the head of anyone in this town-hell, in this _continent_ and I swear to God that you'll be dead before you know what hit you."

Greyback only laughed. "It works both ways, Potter. You let slip to any Ministry contacts or old friends that I'm in the area, or try any preemptive strikes, and you _will _regret it. Oh, I know I'll never be able to kill you, you're too good for that, aren't you?" he said, as Harry opened his mouth to retort. "But I can make plenty of kids in this place… suffer in the time it takes you to get to me." He bared those yellow teeth, yellow teeth that looked like the maw of a wolf.

Harry narrowed his eyes, and they continued to circle. It was like a cruel parody of his final face-off with Voldemort. Merlin, it was supposed to have been final. This was all supposed to be over, yet there he was, on the run and face to face once again with a Death Eater. "What's your angle here? How did you find me?" he asked. He didn't expect an answer, not really, but it didn't hurt to ask. Besides, Fenrir Greyback may have been a bloodthirsty man, but he hadn't proven himself to be the cleverest of the Death Eater. No, if he was here on a mission, it was likely on someone else's orders.

Greyback ran his tongue over those chipped, yellow teeth, and Harry repressed a shudder. "Believe it or not, Potter, not on purpose. This…changes things."

"So what were you here for?" he repeated, but the sick knot at the pit of his stomach had already answered that question. As if to confirm it, Greyback's face twisted into another leer. He'd come looking for a quiet, inconspicuous town to find victims. "You touch any of the kids, you will _die_," he snarled, desperate to warn Greyback off and to drive the point home.

"Short term memory, Potter?" asked Greyback "You've already said so." He sounded almost bored. Of course he would be. He couldn't kill Harry, but neither could Harry kill him. "I think this is what the Dark Lord might have called an impasse."

The tendons on Harry's neck were all popping out in tension. He'd never wanted a fight more in his life. He was _afraid_, and simply not used to be afraid anymore. "So what happens now?"

"What happens now is that you leave this room and carry on rubbing elbows with all of these filthy Muggles, and you don't breathe a word about me, and in return I'll not eat any of them. Or bite them."

"Two weeks to the full moon," said Harry, without thinking.

Every single one of Greyback's teeth were showing. "And what exactly do you plan on doing about that?"

* * *

><p>Harry had given Puck a flimsy excuse about leaving a present for Sarah on the counter in his apartment and taken a detour instead of heading for the Puckerman residence, rubber squealing on the cement as he pulled up in the parking lot by his own apartment and he bounded the stairs three at a time, completely forgetting the elevator.<p>

"Wolfsbane, wolfsbane, wolfsbane," he muttered under his breath, throwing books left and right over his shoulder as he rummaged through his closet. He'd made fun of Hermione for insisting that he take a miniature magical library with him when he moved, but at the moment he felt the strong desire to build a shrine in her honor.

He extracted a peeling, advanced-level Potions textbook from the corner of the closet and rifled through its pages, tearing a page or two in his haste. Madam Pince would have been scandalized. He stopped on an age-spotted page decorated with a rather gruesome illustration of a werewolf's transformation and ran a finger down the ingredients list and instructions.

_Fuck. _He didn't have any of those ingredients. He'd probably sooner set his own apartment on fire than manage to brew the potion successfully. Not for the first time, he figured that the only reason he'd survived to the age of seventeen was that people who actually studied had taken an inexplicable liking to him. He immediately reached for his cell phone to dial up the Weasley family, but then stopped, finger millimeters from the "call" button. _You let slip to any Ministry contacts or old friends that I'm in the area, or try any preemptive strikes, and you will regret it. _

Greyback had no real way of knowing that he'd called up his best friends. The Death Eaters were too disgusted and confounded by Muggle technology to ever dream of wiretapping. If Greyback had the brains to bring in any old friends now that he'd stumbled across the Chosen One, they were probably watching international Floo networks, and if they were particularly canny, airports. Yes, giving Ron and Hermione a buzz was probably safe, and wouldn't tip off any sort of retaliation.

No, the real issue would be Ron and Hermione's reaction if he just rang them up out of the blue and begged for a shipment of wolfsbane. His friends were as far from stupid as it could possibly get, and they would certainly have a lot of questions. They'd want to know why, for instance, Harry could possibly be worried about werewolves in Lima, Ohio. And even if Harry somehow managed to defuse the question and send the conversation down a different track, Hermione wouldn't be the type to let it go. She'd check the record of war criminals and Azkaban breakouts and find Fenrir Greyback on the list. Hermione would have the foresight to get her and Ron, and any backup that they might plan for into the country quietly, but that was no guarantee that whenever the inevitable showdown happened, collateral damage would occur.

Harry found that for the first time in seven years, he couldn't turn to his friends. And it was a scary thought.

* * *

><p>Harry was five minutes away from the Puckerman residence when he remembered another variable in the equation that was now his life. <em>Cho Chang. <em>Well, fuck. In an ideal world, she wouldn't come within a thousand mile radius of Lima, Ohio; but there she was, and there was little that he could do about it. The trick was now going to be to keep her well and away from both the school building and Greyback. If she saw Greyback, there was no way that she wouldn't recognize him and raise the alarm. Likewise, Greyback might recognize her as one of the student fighters from the Battle of Hogwarts, and would immediately jump to the conclusion that Harry had tried to sneak in reinforcements despite his warning.

His head was throbbing now. She'd visited the school only once, and it probably wasn't likely she'd do it again, but he'd have to keep a particular eye on Mike's family to make sure that they had no plans to do so, on top of watching out for the Glee Club and anyone else that he associated in public, as they'd likely be the first targets. And speaking of the Glee Club, he'd have to track down their addresses and start setting up some wards around their homes.

Instead of heading straight up to Puck's apartment, he slipped around to the side of the building and hid in the bushes. Pressing his wand to the side of the building, he whispered an incantation and watched as a faint silver light glowed at the end of the wand, and sank into the brickwork. It wasn't as strong as he would prefer, but it was subtle shield magic, and would do its job when called upon. He waited another minute to make sure the shield charm would stay in place, then climbed out of the bushes and dusted leaves off of his clothes. As he entered the apartment building, he couldn't help but desperately wish that he was just a little bit smarter or faster, and could think of something better to do. He needed Ron and Hermione, but they were the two people that he couldn't have right now.

* * *

><p>"Sorry for being late," he told Puck as he handed off a neatly wrapped package to a very enthusiastic Sarah.<p>

"It's no big deal, my Ma's still cooking," shrugged Puck.

Harry sniffed the air. "God, that smells heavenly. I've been cooking for myself way too long."

"Cold pizza every other day?" said Puck knowingly.

"Give me a little credit. I switch it up with Chinese take-out."

"You should come over more often then," said Puck, as he grabbed a stack of plates to set the table. "My Ma's a wicked cook." _When she's sober_ went unsaid, but Harry could see the thought in his eyes anyway.

He picked up a fistful of silverware and began to help Puck set the table. "You know, I just might take you up on that offer." It would give him more opportunity to keep an eye on the Puckerman family, anyway.

* * *

><p>As it transpired, Ms. Puckerman's cooking tasted just as good as it smelled, and Harry and Puck were sprawled out on the floor of Puck's room in a comatose state, having lit the candles already. There was music for the next Glee assignment gently throbbing on the speakers, but neither of them was much interested in even standing up, let alone singing. Instead, they swapped stories, Puck talking about all the scrapes he'd ever gotten into, and Harry giving rather highly edited versions of the stories about all his Hogwarts hijinks and escapades.<p>

"You have a leaf in your hair," said Puck out of the blue, in the middle of his own story about crashing the Dalton Academy fight club and coming back home at four in the morning with a bruise the size of an egg on his face. He reached over and pulled it out of Harry's hair, and Harry felt the blood rush to his face, although he had no idea why. He chose not to dignify the situation with a comment.

Puck, sensing his renitence, rolled over onto his stomach and propped his chin up on his hands, looking at Harry. "What's up with you, man? You've been weird all day, ever since history. You freaked the fuck out when you saw the teacher, and stayed to talk with him after class. And then after talking with him after class you didn't stick around, you tore the fuck out of the place like someone was going to kill you. And now you show up with leaves in your hair?"

Harry's hand jumped to his hair self-consciously. "So what?"

"_So_, you're kind of worrying me here," said Puck, now actually sitting up. "What have you been doing? Running through forests trying to escape mad axe murderers?"

Harry sat up too. Oh, how he wished it was something as simple as a mad axe murderer. "I've had some bad news from home, okay? Something that could possibly affect things around here."

"Bad…in what way? Worse then awkward ex-girlfriends showing up?" Harry couldn't help but hope that his brain wasn't inventing that little note of jealousy in Puck's voice.

"Shut up. No."

"Murderous awkward ex-girlfriends?"

"No. Absolutely not. Cho is a nice girl." _When she's not beating the shit out of a Death Eater in the heat of a brutal Wizarding battle_, he couldn't help but remember.

"Then what is it? Another one of those things that you can't talk about?"

"Sort of?" Harry was mentally adding the International Statute of Secrecy to the long list of things that he hated right now, in a close second behind Fenrir Greyback, and followed up by awkward one-sided sexual tension.

Puck frowned. "If it's something bad and you're freaking the fuck out over it, you should just talk about it anyway.

"I _told_ you already, I can't," sighed Harry.

"It's potentially dangerous, though, right?"

Harry was betrayed by the flicker in his own expression.

"Yeah, I thought so," Puck said. "Look, you said it's bad. You said it could affect things around here. That makes it not only your business, but our business too. You could at least give me a tiny idea of what's going on."

Harry exhaled loudly through his nose, frustrated. "I know you're right, and Merlin, I want to tell _somebody_, but believe me when I say that whatever happens will be about a million times worse if I told you. Not to mention," he added, "it's definitely illegal for me to tell you."

Puck's eyes went huge. "Illegal? Shit, man, were you some sort of government operative?"

Harry laughed. "Oh, fuck, no. That much I can promise you." He wasn't lying. At this point, he wouldn't touch anything Ministry or bureaucracy related with a ten foot pole.

Puck sighed and flopped back on the floor, staring up on the ceiling. "This is kind of shit, you know? I hate that you can't talk about anything."

"You can't hate this more than me," sighed Harry.

* * *

><p>Harry came back to his apartment at about ten thirty that night. He'd planned on getting home sooner, but Sarah insisted that he stick around so that she could paint his toenails pink. Puck had found it very funny, until Sarah gave Puck matching fingernails. He didn't clean up to go to bed, though. Instead, he dressed all in black, as a precautionary measure, and retrieved his invisibility cloak from the closet before slinking out the door all over again and setting off for the Hudmel residence as quietly as he could.<p>

It felt a little like stalking, he though, as he whispered his incantations and watched the silver light sink into the siding on the house. Creeping around the town in the dark and showing up at people houses. He'd be in trouble if anyone noticed him. He'd also be in trouble, though, if what was probably going to be an inevitable stand off happened to tip the impasse between himself and Greyback and something horrible happened to his Glee friends.

_You're doing it again_, he thought to himself as he set off down the road for Mike's house. _That 'saving people thing'. _He couldn't help it, though. The New Directions was turning out to be just as much of a family as Dumbledore's Army had been.

* * *

><p>Okay, so there was precious little HarryPuck interaction here, and this humble author is extremely apologetic. Don't worry, though. I have things planned for the "Blame it on the Alcohol" chapter. Muahaha.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: I love you guys. Full stop. Seriously, it is the most awesome feeling in the world to know that somewhere out there, people are responding well to something that I wrote. Aw, and I'm sorry about dropping Greyback in to ruin things. But I wanted a plot, and that was where the story took me. Just the usual reminder, I don't own Glee or Harry Potter. Because sometimes, dreams just don't come true.

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><p>The winter break passed in a flurry of cold wind and more holiday themed baked goods than even Puck could handle, and yet something wasn't quite right. Puck couldn't exactly put his finger on it. By all accounts, he should have been fairly happy. The holidays seemed to have been a sort of pick-me-up to his exhausted, worn mother. She had color in her cheeks, had steered clear of the bar, and been home every evening in time for dinner. His report card came in the mail sometime before the New Year, and he'd actually not failed a single final exam, which was a personal first. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was now off the streets, and couldn't really summon the energy to give two shits about what people thought about him anymore. He hadn't picked any fights, had any disciplinary issues, and most importantly, had not been thrown back in the slammer. Noah Puckerman was mostly walking the straight and narrow, and wasn't miserable for it.<p>

No, it wasn't any of the tangible things in his life that was upsetting him, for once. It was something that he tasted in the air, rather, like one could taste the gathering clouds before a storm. Discomfort. Fear. Watching eyes. Rachel Berry may have trumpeted her sixth sense to anyone who would listen, but Puck preferred to keep his private. The fact that he didn't trumpet it didn't mean that once in a while he didn't fancy that he had one. For instance, he could scope out every fluctuation in the tempestuous love triangle that was Rachel, Finn, and Quinn, and didn't even need anyone to tell him what was up. Hell, he usually knew what was going on before it hit the Facebook gossip rounds, or even the Glee Club gossip rounds. Granted, that may have had more to do with the fact that Finn's face was a billboard for his emotions, and whenever Rachel got pissed off she took to the spotlight in Glee Club with an angry Broadway ballad. But hey, the point was that Puck was a tad more perceptive than he cared to let on.

Right now, his gut was telling him that trouble was brewing. Puck himself was not the epicenter, though. Instead, that sixth sense was telling him that it was Harry. Despite being over at the Puckerman's regularly for dinner, Harry had been oddly distant. He'd skipped a few group outings that the Glee Club had planned, and had been definitely on the twitchy side during Mercedes' impromptu Christmas party. When Puck went out to run the occasional errand, he'd find Harry skulking around unusual parts of town, places that generally speaking he wouldn't have any business going. The most important clue was the way he held himself. Gone was the arrogant British prep-school bastard that had done such a neat job of baiting Puck at the beginning of the school year, and in his place was a taut, nervous guy spoiling for a fight.

Puck wanted to ask. He really did. If it was Finn, he'd just tackle him to the floor and hold him there until he got answers. It wasn't Finn, though; it was Harry, who was another person entirely. The fact that Puck would probably get his ass handed to him if he tried to tackle Harry was beside the point. The real point was that Harry, besides being somebody whose pants he'd love to get into, was a person that he actually respected. Harry had asked him to pipe down and respect his judgment, and he was going to have to accept that.

* * *

><p>Finn had given up a long time ago on beating Puck at Super Mario and was now mashing at the buttons on his controller. Puck hoped that he wouldn't crush it by accident. Paying for a wedding and the Dalton Academy tuition probably didn't leave a whole lot left over to their family for shit like video games.<p>

Presently, Finn sniffed the air, resembling nothing so much as an oversized Labrador retriever. "Is that cookies that I smell?"

Puck didn't take his eyes off the game. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

"I bet Kurt is making cookies," said Finn excitedly, throwing the controller to the rug. "He makes shittons of desserts and then takes it with him to Rachel's or Mercedes' and has a sleepover whenever he gets all worked up over what's-his-face. Blaine, I think."

"Does he?" Puck was still mostly absorbed by the game. It took him away from his own petty worries. "I bet those cookies are vegan and nonfat and full of Splenda, too."

Finn's forehead creased. "You think so? They tasted normal to me."

"You could eat a cardboard box and not notice the difference."

"So could you!" said Finn accusingly. "We eat all the same stuff."

"Yeah, we do, but the difference between me and you is that you don't know any better, while I know and just ignore it."

Finn paused, trying to work out if that had been a vaguely worded insult or not. "I'll eat those cookies and prove you wrong."

"You do that." Anyone who didn't know better would probably think that the two of them hated each other, but it was just how they were used to talking. Both knew without saying so that they were as solid as friends could be. Their friendship had survived Quinn, it could survive anything.

Finn lumbered downstairs and to the kitchen. Puck tossed his own controller aside and remained sprawled out on the floor. Presently, Kurt Hummel poked his head in the room. "Yeah, so don't bother mentioning it to Finn or anything, but I made the cookies to lure him downstairs so I could get in here and haul all the dirty laundry out. Seriously, it reeks. I can smell it from across the hall. Does Finn ever wash his clothes?"

Puck looked up. "No. There's a reason why his football locker smelled that way."

Hummel wrinkled his nose. "Gross. And he wonders why I quit the team." He wound his way into the room and began picking up scattered T-shirts and jeans, holding them by the tips of his fingers, as if Finn's sloppiness was somehow contagious. Puck watched him clean for a while, not moving from his place on the floor until apropos nothing, a question popped into his brain.

"How do you respectfully convince a dude to fuck you?"

Hummel dropped the pile of dirty laundry and stared at him, open-mouthed. _Oops._ _Well, shit. _He had said that out loud? For a taut moment, neither of them spoke. Typically, though, Hummel was the first to find his bearings.

"If you're planning some sick kind of _Carrie_ prank on some gay kid, Puckerman, I'll rip your balls off and feed it to Mercedes' Chihuahua, and then I'll call up the ACLU and you'll be sued black and blue. I'm not kidding." One fist was on his hip and his eyes were narrowed.

"I'm not doing anything like that, I swear to God, Hummel. Haven't I been in Glee for like a year and a half now? Don't you think I'm a better person than that?"

Hummel's hand didn't move from his hip. His eyes were still fierce. "My beloved Marc Jacobs jacket hasn't forgotten the inside of the dumpster yet, Puckerman. Even the dry cleaner's couldn't take the stain out."

Puck held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Shit, man. Honest to God, it was never because you're gay. It's because you came off as a right fucking priss and nobody on the team liked you anyway."

"I don't know if I should slap you right now or not."

"I'm sorry about that! I really am. I did what I had to do to stay cool with the guys on the team. But I've got Glee now, and I haven't put you in the dumpster for like over a year now. And I'd seriously fuck up anyone who tries. Plus, you're not half bad. Actually, you can be kind of cool, when you're not bitching me out like you are right now."

Hummel's eyes were still suspicious, but his hands were folded across his chest now instead of at his hips. "Okay. So let's proceed under the assumption that you really are sorry and don't have any problems with the gays. Why do you want to know how to seduce a man?"

"Because I found a man I'd like to seduce? Duh."

"Since when are you up for fucking dudes?"

"Since always. I'm fucking Noah Puckerman, the hottest stud in this goddamn cow town. I can fuck whoever I want."

Hummel's eyes finally softened up a bit. "Alright. I can believe that. You always did seem like the 'anything with a pulse' type, anyway." He sat down on the floor across from Puck and crossed his legs.

"Shut up." Puck swatted at him, just like he would have with Finn.

Hummel's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Oh, don't even deny it."

Puck chose to ignore him. "So are you gonna answer my question or not?"

"It depends on the guy, you see? Is he a decent person, or is he a shameless man whore in the mode of one Noah Puckerman?"

"If he was like me, you think I'd be sitting here asking about it? No, we'd be fucking the daylights out of each other."

Hummel gave a delicate shudder. "You are so unromantic it's almost horrifying."

"I hope helmet-head watches as much Disney as you do, otherwise you're gonna be in for a nasty surprise."

"Shut up." It was Hummel's turn to smack him.

"No, and for your information, he's a decent person," Puck informed him. "Quite decent, in fact. Which is why I accidently consulted you. I don't wanna screw this up or insult him or anything like that."

"If you think he's such a great person, why are you only focusing on getting into his pants?"

"What do you mean?"

Hummel was giving him a look like you'd give a four year old who was particularly dense about learning the alphabet. "I'm saying, if you actually like him, why not go for a relationship?"

"A what?" Puck stared at him.

"A _relationship_, Puckerman," said Hummel, rolling his eyes. "You, those things that a lot of people like to have? Involving dates and boyfriends and girlfriends and monogamy and mutual respect?"

Puck scratched his chin. "Huh. Well, actually, I hadn't considered it. But now that you mention it…"

"I know, I know, it's a foreign concept to you and all. But if you like the guy enough, I think you should try it."

"I'll think about it."

Hummel patted his knee. "Don't give yourself an aneurism over it," he said. Their familiar bitchy dynamic slid back into place, and the sincere conversation was coming to a close. Hummel gathered up Finn's laundry and made to leave, but at the doorway, stopped and looked back at Puck.

"Oh, and you know, Puckerman? You're not so bad yourself. Harry did tell me how you were with the other Glee guys who went to jump Karofsky, so I guess I should thank you."

Puck gave a half smile up at the ceiling. Who would have known that it would feel so awesome to be the good guy for a change?

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry was wearing the ugliest dress that Puck had ever seen, full stop. It was some frothy kind of aqua green and looked like it came straight out of those <em>Little House on the Prairie<em> television specials that his Ma sometimes watched. This was her idea of party wear? She was a damn sight lucky that Finn's vision was probably obscured by all the hearts that popped up whenever she entered the room. Finn was clearly still head over heels for Rachel, even if he was dating Quinn. That was, if you could even call it dating, given the fact that it was more a business arrangement than anything, what with Quinn's endgame plan of being Prom King and Queen.

She went around with a basket under her arm, as if determined to reinforce the Laura Ingalls impression. The basket was lined with gingham and filled with little stationary pieces neatly folded into squares. "Drink slips!" she said brightly, pressing two into Puck's palm.

"That's fucking stupid," he said. It really was, even if he wasn't planning to drink.

"Honestly, Rachel?" said Harry, from where he was sitting on the stage. No joke, a _stage. _In a fucking _basement. _No wonder Rachel was such a nut job. Her dads were obviously nut jobs themselves. "I think I agree with Puck here. You plan on packing the entire Glee Club in this basement, along with a mini bar full of alcohol, and you think drink tickets are going to do any good at all?"

Rachel's forehead creased into a frown. "Really? Is that what you think?" The ruffles in her dress seemed to wilt along with her posture.

"Absolutely," said Puck, as Finn lumbered down the stairs accompanied by Kurt and Blaine, that prep school fling of his that usually wore more hair gel than anyone needed.

"I guess…we can forget the drink tickets," said Rachel slowly, setting the basket down.

From the corner, Santana let out a raucous yell.

And so it began.

* * *

><p>An hour later and more wine coolers than Puck believed anyone, even the entire Glee Club plus one lightweight Warbler could consume later, and Rachel's basement was utter pandemonium. Santana was busy licking margarita salt off of Brittany tanned and toned stomach, and if Puck wasn't so single-mindedly focused at the moment on figuring out what the hell he was going to do with the emotions and shit he was feeling over Harry, he'd have found that very interesting indeed. Mike and Tina were trying to suck face at the same time as dancing, while Mercedes was sitting off to the side and staring into the depths of her red cup, giggling, and ignoring a ranting and incoherent Quinn.<p>

"Am I the only sober one in this place?" he wondered aloud, knowing that everyone else was too drunk to either care or answer.

"No," said Harry's voice in his ear, and he couldn't repress an involuntary shiver.

"Where were you?" asked Puck, trying to get his heart rate back to normal.

"Oh, you know. Around," said Harry, waving a hand vaguely.

"I didn't figure you to be one of those straight edge types," said Puck, hoping to distract himself.

"I'm not. The wine coolers are just bloody disgusting. Also, it would take a hell of a lot of them to get me plastered." Harry flashed him a disarming grin.

"You think these are weak?" asked Puck incredulously.

"I suppose you haven't had firewhiskey, so you wouldn't know any better," mused Harry to himself.

"Do I even want to know what firewhiskey is?"

"No."

And they passed another half hour or so with playful banter as everyone else in the room, bar Hummel, the designated driver, get even drunker.

* * *

><p>"We should play a drinking game," slurred Santana, from her perch on Brittany's lap.<p>

"Girl, please. There will be no beer pong in this venue, on pain of death," said Hummel, lifting his nose in the air.

"Spin the bottle?" suggested Tina, twirling the blue streak in her hair around one finger and ignoring Mike nibbling his way up her neck and towards her earlobe.

"What are we in, junior high?" demanded Puck to the room at large, but everyone was clearly too drunk to care about a word he said anymore.

They gathered in a lopsided circle that was really more of an egg shape, and Rachel somehow produced a wine bottle. It was a miracle that she hadn't dropped it and shattered it. Brittany gave it a tipsy twirl, and landed on Sam. She gave a sloppy grin and reached forward to mash their lips together. Even in her inebriated state, Santana folded her lips into a thin line. Artie took another swig from his red cup.

"My turn!" said Rachel, clapping her hands together and almost missing as she reached forward. The bottle landed pointing at none other than helmet-head. Without waiting to notice Hummel's disapproving frown, Rachel tangled her fingers through Blaine's un-gelled, curly mess of hair and commenced in giving him a rather sloppy kiss.

The kiss went on longer and longer, and everyone in the room began to shift uncomfortably until they finally broke apart. Hummel's ears were a faint shade of pink and Finn was starting to look murderous.

"Your turn, fairy boy," said Mercedes, giggling tipsily and pointing at Puck.

"What? Fairy boy?" He forgot the game, for a moment.

"It's a Shakespeare reference," explained Harry patiently. "We were reading a Midsummer Night's Dream in English, remember?"

"You were reading. I wasn't," Puck pointed out. He chose not to mention the fact that he'd spent the entire period watching Harry, and hoping he would stand up to get a tissue or something so that he could check out his ass.

"Just get over your own illiteracy and spin the damn bottle," said Hummel from the corner. He was in a cranky mood now, carefully ignoring a very drunk Blaine that was lolling on his shoulder and looking ready to pass out at any moment.

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Puck. He leaned forward and spun the bottle. It wobbled a bit as it started slowing now, and _oh God no don't stop on Finn_ Puck thought, as it started slowing down precariously close to his best buddy. It didn't stop next to Finn, though. It stopped directly in front of Harry.

He could have sworn the atmosphere in that basement cooled by a few degrees, in contrast to the definite heat that was creeping up his collar. A few people were still sober enough to exchange worried glances with one another. The pause lengthened, until Harry broke it.

"Oh, loosen up, you people," he said. He rolled his eyes and grabbed Puck by the front of his T-shirt, pressing their lips together. Against his better judgment, Puck tangled his fingers through Harry's hair and deepened the kiss. He should have broken away several moments ago, but it was Harry, and they were kissing, and it was _fucking awesome_. His lips were soft, but they weren't all sticky and goopy with that lip gloss shit that girls liked to wear, and he didn't tease and play submissive either. He swiped his tongue once against the parting in Puck's lips, as if unwilling to overstay his welcome, and he pulled away.

Puck was about to argue and maybe pull him back in for a proper make out session when he remembered where they were, and realized that the entire Glee Club was looking on with befuddled expressions, and _holy shit he'd just gotten a little taste_, and damn if he didn't really, really want some more.

"What?" asked Harry. "You wanted us to play spin the bottle? Well, we played."

Mike broke the shock by reaching for the bottle himself, and soon Harry and Puck's incident was forgotten in the mayhem that ensued. Harry wandered off to the other side of the basement with a very tipsy Mercedes and Tina, one on each elbow, seemingly unaffected by what had passed. Hummel was eyeing Puck with a speculative look, though, and Santana spared him a leer before turning back to the game.

Puck stared at the basement's ceiling. Well, fuck. He desperately hoped that things wouldn't get awkward from here on out.

* * *

><p>Enjoy the semi-fluff now, because shit's gonna go down in a chapter or two.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

AN: This was actually kind of difficult to write. I had to go, like, a sentence at a time. It was worth it, though. I think. The plot kept moving anyway, and I soldiered past the deadly disease of writer's block. Hurray! And thanks so much for the continuing support for the story. It helps enormously. I don't own Glee or Harry Potter. This would be onscreen and not online if I did.

* * *

><p>Harry was more exhausted than he'd ever been before, even more tired than he'd been during the darkest days of final exams back at Hogwarts. Between school and prepping for Regionals and keeping an eye out for not only himself but every single member of the Glee Club along with every member of their families, any teacher who showed the slightest hint of fondness for him, and generally anyone who associated with him, he was ready to drop dead.<p>

As if all of that wasn't enough, he had to find creative ways to cut his telephone conversations with Ron and Hermione short. They were just too bloody perceptive, and he didn't trust himself to keep talking to them all the time. Eventually, he'd let something slip about the current Greyback situation, and all hell would break loose. Added to that, he had to find ways to keep Cho Chang far, far away from the school. At first, it had been enough to subtly slip hints to Mike about all the nice places in Columbus that he could take the Chang cousins. After the first few weeks, though, that tactic wasn't so successful anymore. Harry hadn't really expected it to last that long anyway. It wasn't like Ohio was full of exciting places to be. Instead, he resorted to steering the entire club plus the Chang cousins off to coffee shops and restaurants whenever someone tried to plan a rendezvous at the auditorium or at the choir room. He spent a great deal of time over at the Chang household with Mike and Finn and the rest of the football guys as well, in the hopes that if he spent enough time chatting up Cho outside of school, she wouldn't bother visiting McKinley anymore.

As much as he liked Cho, though, the whole situation was making him rather depressed. It was cutting down on the time he could spend at the Puckerman residence instead. He missed Sarah, missed her even when he knew that she was armed to the teeth with nail polish and Disney movies. He missed Puck, too. It wasn't like they were separated or anything. They talked and texted and hung out, same as ever. Only, the more time that Harry spent with Cho, the more Puck seemed to drift. The silences became slightly dour, and if Harry ever mentioned Cho, or had to turn down plans with Puck because he was already busy trying to entertain her, Puck's brows would knit and the side of his mouth would tilt into a frown. He'd spend the rest of the day glowering, like a fire with cold ashes thrown on it.

Not for the first time, Harry wished he knew what was going on between the two of them. They'd shared quite a steamy kiss, back there in Rachel's basement, and Harry would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy it. In fact, he'd enjoyed it a lot, quite a bit more than he'd enjoyed kissing Cho. Kissing Cho had meant getting cried on half the time, and having to take charge the other half of the time. Kissing Puck, however, meant raw, unbridled emotion. It was half a battle, and half pure animal instinct. It was more than good, it was brilliant.

The catch was that it had only been a game, really and truly. They would probably have never locked lips if it wasn't for that damn bottle, and it didn't look likely that they'd ever get any more action without one. Harry had walked out of that basement not acknowledging what had transpired and Puck, it seemed, had taken him up on his lead and chosen not to mention it, even though they talked about almost everything else. None of the rest of the New Directions pressed the issue because they'd all been too drunk at the time to remember anything that had happened. Kurt had been fairly sober at the time. Harry was pretty sure that the incident was something that he wasn't likely to let go, and on the few coffee meetings they'd had down at the Lima Bean, he'd given Harry a stare a tad too penetrating for his own liking. He said nothing about Puck, though, and Harry was more than happy to redirect to conversations concerning the woes of boarding school and the commendable obliviousness of one Blaine Anderson. And so life went on.

* * *

><p>It was around the middle of March that Harry was reminded by Cho that they had Regionals.<p>

"So, you know your Glee Club and all?" she asked, blowing on the steaming cup of tea in front of her. They were sitting at the dining room table at the Chang household, while the raucous yells of Finn, Mike, and Tina having a video game battle filtered in from the living room.

"What about it?" Harry asked suspiciously. He drummed his fingers on the little porcelain cup of tea that Mrs. Chang had given him. She'd somehow gotten it into her head that because Harry and Cho were British, their preferred beverage would be tea. Neither had the heart to tell her otherwise, so they accepted the tea and the little red bean cakes with grace. Besides, it wasn't as if either of them could get any butterbeer in Lima.

"I was kind of wanting to see you lot perform, if you don't mind."

Harry choked on his tea. "What would you want to do that for?" he gasped, throat raw from the scalding drink.

"You spend a lot of time with them, you know?" said Cho. "And you're all always practicing. It seems like everyone puts a lot of passion into it."

Harry dipped his head. "It does give us some sense of purpose," he conceded.

"Kind of like Dumbledore's Army did," Cho said. Her voice was quiet.

Harry looked down at his tea again, suddenly fascinated by the green powder swirling at the bottom.

"Whatever you do, don't give up on this thing, okay?" said Cho. "It's good, seeing you enthusiastic about something."

"Since when was I ever _not_ enthusiastic?" Harry asked, stuffing a red bean cake in his mouth whole.

"Since always," said Cho. "I mean, sure, you'd get worked up over Quidditch or the DA and things, but half the time, when you were strung out, it didn't mean you actually wanted to care about something. It just meant that your life depended on it."

"Don't put things that way," Harry told her. "When you talk like that, I almost start feeling sorry for myself."

She gave him a tired, tight smile. "I think a little self pity is in order once in a while. But don't change the subject! I want to watch my cousin and you and all of your friends perform."

"It really doesn't look like I'm going to be able to stop you, am I?"

"No, it doesn't," said Cho. "I don't have Quidditch anymore, so I'm channeling all of my competitive energies into the New Directions."

"All the show choirs in western Ohio will be eternally grateful when you head back home," muttered Harry under his breath. Cho smacked him in the back of the head.

"Shut it. I'm just there for moral support, alright? Do you think they'll let me hitch a ride on the bus?"

Harry almost jumped up out of his seat. "No, absolutely _not_." They always congregated at the school parking lot to get on the bus, and there was not a chance in hell that he'd let her get that close to the school. "You could get a ride with someone's parents instead, couldn't you?"

"Mike's mum and dad aren't about to go," said Cho in an undertone. "They think it's a waste of time. Mike was cut up about it the other day. It took me and Tina both to reassure him that it's not a waste and he's pretty damn well good at dancing, and shouldn't give it up."

Harry sighed. Parental pressure wasn't something that he could exactly empathize with, but he was sorry for Mike all the same. "You could go with Finn's parents? They're nice people, I'm sure they're up for giving you a lift. I can talk to them for you."

Cho drained the last dregs of her tea. "You do that. I look forward to seeing you sing and prance around, Harry Potter."

He buried his face in his hands. "Don't remind me."

* * *

><p>It was a frosty Saturday morning and they were on their way to Regionals, original sheet music in hand and the general feel of an impending battle permeating the air. Harry had gone to Burt Hummel with fresh cookies in hand (Splenda and not sugar, as per Kurt's request) prepared to beg if he had to if that was what it took to keep Cho away from the school parking lot, but as it turned out, he didn't need to beg. Burt Hummel was the sort of man who was more than happy to help out anyone who was kind to his son. Harry felt a sudden surge of affection for the family as a whole. He wasn't lying when he told Cho that they were good people.<p>

Puck prodded Harry in the ribs. "Cho not coming?" he asked casually, scanning over the otherwise empty parking lot.

"Oh, she's coming," said Harry. "Kurt and Finn's dad and mum are taking her."

Puck grunted and stuck one of his IPod ear buds back in.

"Hey, don't be like that," Harry protested, prodding Puck in the side in turn. "She's one more person in the audience on our side that we didn't have before. And believe me; I think we need all the positive moral support that we can get. Sam's looking a little green around the gills again, and Finn knows from what Kurt's let slip that the Warblers are pretty spanking good."

Puck let out a breath through his nose. He looked to be grinding his teeth. "I know. I'm sorry." He seemed to struggle a bit with concepts too difficult for words. "I just…why do you have spend so much time with her, anyway? She's your ex. Isn't it awkward?"

So that was what it was? Puck was frustrated he wasn't getting to spend time with Harry? "She's from back home," Harry attempted to explain. "We went through a bloody war together." Puck stared at him strangely. "Gang war," he amended hastily. "She's the only person I can talk to about other people I knew," he added, seeing that Puck still looked unconvinced. "And anyway, we were shitty as a couple. As far as I can tell it was just a really short rebound affair. So no, it's not awkward. It's like having conversations with Kurt or something."

"I guess that's fair," said Puck slowly, pulling the ear bud back out of his ear. Harry could see that he still had a few retorts chewing at his tongue, but he bit them back. _This won't last forever_, Harry reassured himself. Cho would be going back in another few days, and he wouldn't have to devote all of his time and energies to keeping her out of the danger zone.

_Except_, the part of his brain that spoke in Hermione's voice reminded him, _no, it's still not going to be over. You won't be in immediate danger of setting off a psychopathic werewolf Death Eater, but that doesn't mean he's still not going to be hanging around._ Harry knuckled his forehead. Times like this, he really longed for a less dramatic life.

* * *

><p>The entire club shuffled into the red velvet folding seats, having nothing left to do but wait and see what would happen. Harry wasn't sure which was moreunpleasant; the blind panic and bitter atmosphere of Sectionals, or just the plain tension that was filling Regionals. Harry looked over the rows, and saw Burt, Carole, and Cho waving at them from a spot somewhere near the left center. The entire club minus Puck waved back. Puck had apparently decided that he was just going to have to live with Cho for the next few days, but evidently it didn't make him any more enthusiastic about the matter.<p>

They sat through an excruciating performance by the red, chipper, and cheery Aural Intensity. Harry didn't see what was so special about singing Jesus-themed songs. The rest of New Directions didn't appear to get it either, but half of the crowd went wild.

"It _is _western Ohio, after all," muttered Rachel not for the first time. Her voice was as bitter as it had ever been. She was still put out over Finn and Quinn, and the enthusiastic response of the red headed woman in the judging panel to Aural Intensity's efforts wasn't helping.

The curtain fell, prepping for Dalton Academy's set, and the club's mood palpably tightened. The relationship of themselves and the Warblers was a strange one. Kurt was still one of them, no matter where he moved, and not a single one of the New Directions wanted to see his dreams put out, but at the same time, they wanted that Nationals shot more than they'd ever wanted anything in the world.

The curtains rose again, and Harry was expected an enthusiastic and decidedly not-drunk Blaine Anderson to leap forward and take the lead on a frothy pop hit. Instead, though, the Warblers were swaying and crooning, and Kurt was stepping forward into the spotlight alone. He wasn't alone for long. Blaine soon stepped forward to harmonize, and suddenly a mournful ballad was filling the auditorium. Or, at least, it should have been mournful. Something in the way that the two were circling each other, teasing, the little sparks of a shared secret lighting their eyes made it more sweet than anything.

Harry heard an audible sniffle. He glanced to his left, but Mercedes wasn't crying. There was a fond smile on her face. He looked to his right and almost laughed, very nearly spoiling the moment.

"Are you _crying_?" he whispered to Puck.

"Fuck off," said Puck, turning red, glazed eyes to Harry. "It's fucking adorable but like heartbreaking and shit at the same time. Just look at them!"

Quinn shushed Puck, and Harry stifled a laugh. Puck had a point, but it was still hysterical.

* * *

><p>"I'm never going to let you live this down, just so you know," Harry informed Puck as they huddled in the green room.<p>

"I hate your guts," Puck growled.

"You should just shut up and be thankful it was me and not Santana that noticed," Harry pointed out. "The rest of the club would know by now if she had."

"The rest of them would know what?" asked Santana, her breath tickling the back of his neck.

"Nothing," said Puck. "Nothing at all!"

"Reallllly?" asked Santana. She dragged the word out on her tongue like syrup.

Harry gave a wide, shit-eating grin, and Puck jabbed him with an elbow. "Really. Now go make out with Brittany for good luck or something."

Santana flounced away in a huff. Brittany was still a sore spot, apparently.

Puck grabbed Harry's elbow. "Let's go kick some ass and show those Warbler nancies how it's done, yeah?"

"You didn't think they were such nancies when you were crying over their performance, now did you?"

Puck stomped off after Santana.

* * *

><p>"We <em>won,<em>" breathed Tina, still in disbelief. "Like, they actually physically handed us the really pretty gold trophy." The trophy in question was resting in the middle of the table at the place of honor, at the Italian restaurant that they had all congregated at to celebrate their first-ever Regionals win.

"And we're going to NEW YORK," shouted Finn, flailing around in excitement. "Freakin' New York!"

"Kurt's going to hate me," whispered Mercedes. Her face still betrayed joy, though.

A self satisfied smile was spread across Rachel's face. "I _told _you guys that original songs were necessary if we wished to convey emotion properly. I'm presuming we'll be writing our own set list for Nationals?"

"Oh, stuff it, Hobbit," said Santana. Schuester had her by the elbow to keep her from slipping off to the restaurant's bar. "Can't you just let us enjoy this whole deal of actually winning for a change?"

"Seriously," said Finn. "I love all of you guys, like, so much right now." He slung an arm over Artie, who wrinkled his nose.

* * *

><p>Harry and Puck's breaths misted the air as they headed out to the restaurant's parking lot together.<p>

"You up for the celebratory party at Finn's?" Puck asked Harry.

"Nah, I don't really fancy a drink tonight," said Harry.

Puck scratched his nose. "Me neither, now that you mention it. You want to just hang at your apartment?"

"Sci-fi zombie film night?" asked Harry. It was an unofficial institution of theirs.

"Don't you know it. I think it's Dawn of the Dead tonight."

Harry grinned and flipped Puck his apartment keys. "I have to pick up some Physics project stuff from Artie's, so I'm going to stop at his place first. You think you can get Santana to drop you off at my place? I'll meet you there."

"I'll get the popcorn started up and everything."

"Don't blow up the microwave, okay? It's the only thing that I actually cook with."

* * *

><p>Harry collected stacks of paper and circuit boards from Artie's exceptionally messy desk.<p>

"Some show, wasn't it?" sighed Artie, still over the moon.

"It really was," said Harry. He wished Ron and Hermione had been there to see it, although Ron would probably take the mickey out of him later over his secret fondness for singing and dancing. "I'm glad I didn't make an arse of myself in front of Cho. She would have spread it around to all my friends back home."

"It's too bad Mike's parents wouldn't take her," said Artie. "He's really something else at dancing."

"They'll come around eventually. Or maybe they won't, but it won't matter, because Mike will be good enough to prove something without him."

"Ever the optimist, I see," said Artie. His smile was a touch wry.

"Did Burt and Carole take her back home?" Harry asked. "I forgot to check, I was too busy keeping Santana away from the vintage red wine."

"They said they were going to drop her off at the school, and Mike's folks would get her from there."

The blood drained out of Harry's face and his fingers went icy. "The-the school parking lot, you said?"

"Yeah. Why?"

But Harry hadn't stuck around long enough to answer. He'd already torn out of the door and thrown himself into his car, tires squealing on the pavement as he tore off towards the school. _It's completely unlikely that Fenrir Greyback is going to be anywhere in the vicinity,_ he told himself. _It's Saturday, for fuck's sake! _But he was Harry Potter, and he knew full well that his life never worked out the way it was supposed to.

* * *

><p>The front of the school was empty when he arrived. He knew better than to turn around and leave, though. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, not caring anymore what any Muggles would happen to think if they drove by.<p>

"Cho?" he called. "Cho?"

No answer. He padded toward the side of the building, where an impressive lineup of metal dumpsters lurked.

"Cho?" he asked again.

A piercing scream shattered the cold night air.

"Cho!" he yelled, rounding the corner and almost slipping. He had skidded on Cho's wand, which rolled uselessly on the concrete. A hulking figure shadowed the wall, where Cho was pressed up, her eyes huge with terror. The figure turned at Harry's approach. Fenrir Greyback's eyes narrowed, the yellowed leer sliding off his face. It was replaced with a snarl, but before he could shoot any curses, Harry disarmed him.

Greyback's wand went soaring and clattered to the bottom of one of the giant metal bins. Not even wasting time to go scrabbling for his wand, Greyback charged Harry, wand forgotten. Harry threw himself to the side and rolled, coming upright again facing Greyback's shoulder blades.

"It's not even fucking full moon," he cried, throwing a body bind curse at Greyback. It missed. He was out of practice.

"Doesn't mean I can't still bite, Potter. Who told you to drag the bitch into this?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Cho slowly sliding down the wall and inching toward her wand as inconspicuously as she could. He hoped to God that Greyback wouldn't notice.

Greyback leapt again, and Harry wasn't fast enough to dodge or fling up a shield charm. He wrestled with the werewolf, desperate to avoid the teeth that scraped at his neck and the hands that were trying to break his fingers or pry the wand out of grip. He was strong enough to avoid the teeth, but not strong enough to push off the bulk that was slowly suffocating him. It was incredibly difficult to fire off a curse without worrying about hitting Cho. Long, disgusting nails scraped at the wrist of his right hand, terrifyingly close to snapping his bones, but he just barely managed to angle his wand at Greyback's heart, and thought of the first curse that came to his mind.

A Reductor curse blasted through Greyback's heart with the force of a small bomb. Harry pushed his smoking, bloody corpse away and scrabbled backwards. Cho stood shell-shocked, watching the blood pool out of the ragged hole in Greyback's chest before she turned and retched, the smell of iron and burning flesh stinging her nostrils.

"Oh, shit shit shit," breathed Harry. "Oh shit."

He leaned back over Greyback's mangled corpse, pinching his nose and prodding the body with his toe just to be safe. He turned over Greyback's mostly undamaged left arm. The Dark Mark pulsed there, red and livid. For a moment, Harry could only stare at that red symbol, seared into his eyes.

And then the significance of it hit home.

"Oh shit," Harry repeated, even more loudly this time. Greyback had interpreted Cho's arrival as an attack. He likely knew where Harry lived. He'd sounded the alarm. And Puck at this very moment was heading up to Harry's apartment, completely defenseless.

* * *

><p>Oops. Another cliff hanger. I'm sorry, honestly. But I've been splitting the chapters according to where I want certain people to be narrating, so it's got a purpose, in the end!<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

AN: I admit it: that was a really mean cliffhanger I left you guys on last week. If I was you guys, I would hate me. But I hope all kind of shit going down in this chapter makes up for it? It is so unbelievably hard for me to write action, so much harder than quiet little family moments or Sci-Fi or dramatic plot twists or something. But I did my best, and hopefully it's not too awkward.

I'm not Ryan Murphy. I'm not J.K. Rowling. No amount of fan fiction and wishing will make me either one.

* * *

><p>Puck was whistling a bit as he fiddled with the keys to Harry's apartment. Not that he'd ever admit to anyone else. Badasses never whistled unless they had the barrel of a shotgun pressed up against someone's skull. He was ridiculously cheery at the moment, though. Cho Chang would be packing her bags and getting the fuck out of Lima and back to the British Isles in three days and he'd have normal Harry back. And like a cherry on top of a sundae, New Directions had won Regionals, and were on their way to <em>Nationals.<em>

He pushed the niggling reminder at the back of his head that he'd probably have to find somewhere for Sarah to stay away, for the time being. It wasn't that his mother was in horrible shape. In fact, she'd been better than ever, ever since Sarah had somehow managed to swipe an Alcoholics Anonymous pamphlet and leave it on their mother's dresser. His Ma had assumed it was Puck's doing and hadn't spoken to him for a few days. He'd let her. She didn't need to figure out that even her elementary school daughter could tell that she had serious problem if she didn't want to, and Sarah really didn't deserve to have her own mother mad at her for doing the right thing. Three days later, his Ma came home late again, but she wasn't drunk. Instead, her hands were filled with brochures all stamped with titles saying things like "How to come to terms with Alcoholism" and she whispered a soft "I'm sorry" to Puck before heading off to bed. Sarah had been sitting a few feet away, and her lips curled into the tiniest of satisfied smiles.

No, his mother had been much, much better. Still, a month or so of progress didn't erase years upon years of bad memories. Puck figured he could probably talk (or intimidate) someone into babysitting her for a few days. Perhaps Burt and Carole would be wiling to take her in? Carole had been understandably frosty toward Puck in the wake of baby-gate, but she still hadn't forgotten eight-year old Puck, the Puck that had raised hell with Finn Hudson and came to her crying whenever things at home got tough.

The lock gave, and he was just about to swing the door open when a loud bang sounded next to ear, like a car backfiring. He turned, confused.

"Harry?" he asked, for it was Harry who had materialized out of nowhere, right next to him and grabbed onto his arm, but it was too late. The door had swung open.

He hardly had time to register the sight of four men fanned out around the living room of Harry's apartment in what looked far too much like a battle formation before Harry tackled him to the ground with a resounding crunch. It wasn't a moment too soon, either. What seemed like four small fireworks exploded where Puck's head had been not two seconds before. Harry was on his feet in half a second again, and he shouted _something_, and what felt like an enormous invisible barrier blossomed between the two of them, knocking Puck back to the floor again. He pressed his fingers to the barrier, and his hand was flung back. It wasn't electric. It wasn't physical. He didn't know _what _it was, only that his blood was on fire again like it always was before a nasty fight and the room was swimming like a horrible dream.

He realized that the barrier had been put up to keep him apart from the men spread around like an action squad. Only, Harry hadn't bothered including himself on Puck's side of the barrier. He stood there, completely alone, facing four men twice his size. He'd dropped his center of gravity like a boxer and stood there, waiting. There were no weapons in his hands and yet he wasn't trying to run. A strong surge of affection sliced through Puck's bewilderment and panic and fear, only to be replaced by confusion.

None of the four men were carrying any sort of weapon that he recognized. He didn't see the glint of a pocketknife or the barrel of a gun or even a baseball bat. Instead, they all held sticks of wood. They almost looked like…wands. It was sort of ridiculous looking. In a parallel universe, Puck might have laughed, except that there was very little funny about the current situation. Even armed with wands that nobody but pimply geeks at nerd conventions carried around, the four men meant business. They had that look, the kind of look that Puck had seen before; faces shadowy even under bright lights, eyes hard and glittering like so much plate glass. They would strike to kill.

It was then that he realized that Harry was holding one of those wand things, just the same as the attackers. He was speaking, and it seemed to come from a long way off, as if through a fishbowl.

"You don't want to be doing this."

"Oh, I really think we do," said the one of the four that moved with the most authority. The other three had their heads tilted towards him. He lifted his left forearm, where a red tattoo burned. _A gang tattoo?_ Puck speculated. "We had word. Greyback, I presume?"

Harry's lips peeled back into a snarl. Despite himself, Puck shivered. It was pure animal fury. "I could call in help. I could have the entire Auror task force down on your heads in three minutes."

"The Floo network is down in the area and we took the liberty of cutting the phone lines."

Puck internally swore. There went the only safety measure left. Not that he expected the overweight and clueless Lima police force to do any good, but still. He beat on the barrier again, even though he knew it was useless. Nobody noticed him.

"You cut the-fuck," said Harry. There was silence for a taut moment. He could hear the pipes gurgling, as no one moved. This seemed to register with Harry, too. He went pale. "What did you do with the rest of the floor? How did none of the Muggles hear this?"

The man smiled again. "They're currently indispose-"

He was cut off as Harry didn't wait for the answer. Instead, Harry disarmed the man farthest to the left and snapped his wand in two within the same moment that he shot a jet of red light at the leader of the group, who redirected the red light to the ceiling. It scorched a hole. The two other men took aim at Harry's head, but instead of firing what Puck could only presume to be spells back at them, he ducked and the two jets of light hit each other, creating another small explosion. Under the cover of the clearing smoke, Harry dove at the smallest man's ankles and even through the barrier that warped all sound, Puck could hear the snap as the man's leg broke and he crumpled to the floor with a shriek. He dropped his wand and one of the men made a grab for it, but Harry brought his foot down on it and it snapped into three different pieces, letting off orange sparks.

The leader threw another curse. Harry dodged it faster than Puck would have imagined possible, but the light still grazed his cheek and left a bleeding gash. The disarmed man took advantage of the confusion of the moment to grab Harry around the neck from behind. Harry grabbed both of his thumbs and twisted, and the man's grip slackened. Harry took hold of both of his forearms, swept a leg under his feet and flipped the man to the floor. He aimed a red jet of light at the man on the floor, and his head lolled back, unconscious.

The blood was roaring in Puck's ears. Harry had just two fully grown men out of commission by himself, and yet there were two still standing, ready to take him down.

The two seemed to have realized that Harry wasn't to be played with, though. They circled him like a pair of wolves going after the loose cannon of the pack. Harry was tense as a coiled spring and he matched them, step for step.

The leader tutted. "So weak. Always weak. If you had the sense to go for the kill, you'd be rid of us."

Harry's shoulders twitched. "I'd rather not get in the habit of killing, thanks. Unlike some people with a body count in the thousands to their name. You're murdering scum, Yaxley, and I'd rather not sink to your level."

He only laughed. "You never understand, do you, Potter? You _have_ a body count of thousands to your name. Every student that died at Hogwarts because you didn't hand yourself over sooner? On your conscience. Every man that died because you didn't take the chance to kill the Death Eater responsible when you could? On your conscience."

A horrible, pained expression was licking across Harry's face like fire. "Shut up," he half-whispered. His voice sounded like it was stuck in his throat.

The other man simply laughed. "You and the Dark Lord?" Yaxley said. "Not so dissimilar-"

But again, Harry cut him off midway through a villain monologue. They had pushed him too far. He yelled an unintelligible word and the light fixture screwed to the ceiling, the one that Puck had made of so many times because it clearly came from the old woman who had rented the apart last and not Harry, came crashing down on the second-in-command's head, glass and crystal flying everywhere.

Yaxley was fast, though. The curse he shot this time was red, and hit Harry square in the chest. Puck's breath froze in his lungs, and for a moment his brain was screaming, until he realized that Harry wasn't dead. Not yet.

Harry stumbled backwards over the limp form of the man with the broken leg and hit the floor screaming and writhing, like he was strapped to an invisible electric chair. Even muffled, the scream was hair-raising. Puck pounded on the barrier again, but it still held. Yaxley wasn't laughing or smiling anymore, but the red light put an eerie gleam in his eyes. He stepped forward like he hadn't had the balls to do when Harry was on his feet and strong. Puck hated him deeply on instinct. He always hated the assholes that stood on the sidelines and teased, but only threw a punch when the other guys were down.

He put his foot on Harry's wrist, the wrist attached to the hand that had _somehow_ managed to keep a grip on the wand even through unbearable agony, and he leaned forward. Puck knew full well he meant to snap that wrist. He could have killed Harry at any time, and as fast as he wanted, because Harry was curled up in pain on the floor and for all practical purposes helpless. But he knew how men like Yaxley operated. They liked to draw out suffering, make it last like a sugar cube on the tongue.

Harry wasn't finished, though. He was never finished. "Sectumsempra," he gasped, his voice strangled and his arm trembling, but his aim was true. Yaxley stumbled back covered in what was probably dozens of deep gashes. Distracted by the blood soaking his odd, black robes, he didn't even raise his arms in defense when Harry delivered the finishing blow and he finally fell with the rest, unconscious.

Harry stood in the middle of the smoking wreckage, fingers trembling. He looked at the four bodies sprawled on the floor like he wasn't even seeing them, and his eyes were glassy and far away. Puck thought he might have let the barrier down with the neutralization of the threat. No such luck. He still didn't understand what had just happened. Was it…magic? Somewhere, in the back of head, he could hear a voice that sounded an awful lot like Santana sneering at him, but he couldn't help himself. There wasn't really any other explanation. He was aware that the commonly accepted laws of the natural universe were being shattered around him, but his brain could only process one thing at a time. Right now, the thing it chose to process was a shell-shocked Harry alone in the living room and surrounded by bodies.

The dull thump of Puck pounding on the barrier seemed to stir him into action, though. He dragged all of the bodies into one haphazard pile, staggering a little under the weight of the enormous men, and stood back to survey the damage. He then whispered more words, and ropes flew out of the end of his wand, binding them all together tightly in one ugly heap. He took a few steps sideways, and sank onto the couch, which was covered in white dust and bits of glass and insulation.

At last, the barrier flickered and went down.

Puck was at his side in an instant, but he didn't dare touch Harry. He knew better than to initiate contact with someone who'd just survived the impossible. Harry's eyes flicked sideways to look at Puck, and dropped again. His head was hung…in shame?

"What the hell just happened?" Puck asked, unable to stop himself anymore.

Harry choked out a single bitter laugh. "Exactly the thing I'd been trying to avoid."

"I still don't understand."

"You shouldn't have to," said Harry, and the full weight of self-loathing was behind his words. "All my fucking fault, just because I was stupid and selfish enough to think that running away might solve anything."

"I'm pretty sure this mess has less to do with you and more to do with the bastards over there." Puck indicated the heap of bodies. He felt not the slightest twinge of sympathy for them.

"No, you're not getting it," insisted Harry. "You almost died. Cho almost died. Fuck, the whole floor of the apartment is probably fucking dead." He leapt to his feet as if someone had electrocuted, clearly just now registering the possibility. Harry tore out of the room and skidded to a halt outside his neighbor's door. The doorknob turned easily. It was unlocked.

His shoulders were shaking again as he entered the room. He took one look at the slumped body on the couch, and he looked liable to split at the seams, but Puck tentatively put a hand on his shoulder before he could have a panic attack. "They're not dead, Harry. They're asleep."

Harry stepped forward and inspected the body more closely, as if he didn't trust Puck to judge the situation. Sure enough, though, the chest of the man on the couch was rising and falling softly. He was unharmed.

Harry exhaled softly, and turned back out of the apartment, shutting the door softly. He went back to his own place and sunk into the couch again, Puck trailing him.

"What happens now?" Puck asked. His temples were throbbing. He chose to ignore the fact that he may or may not have just witnessed _magic_, like in all those fantasy books his mother used to check out for him from the library, and focus on the present. Narrowing his focus was a talent of his that had never served well in the past, but willful ignorance was something of a gift at the present moment. "Don't these…bastards…have to be taken care of? They're not going to be unconscious forever."

"Just wait and see," said Harry, and something in his voice forbade further questioning. Puck sat back and waited. The clock, which had been knocked off the counter but somehow still survived multiple explosions, ticked on in the background. And at exactly five minutes to eleven, another four men appeared.

Puck stiffened on instinct, but Harry registered no signs of alarm, so he forced himself to relax. After all, Harry was the only person between the two of them who had any comprehension of what was going on. Instead, Harry stood up and faced the men, brushing powdered glass and white paint chips off of his shirt. He looked woefully underdressed compared to the newly arrived four, who were in pressed black suits and plain ties. They looked like they came out of Men in Black.

_Aliens, _though Puck immediately. _Maybe this whole thing is aliens. _Something told him it wasn't, though. He'd seen a lot of strange things in the past twenty minutes, but not a single one had looked advanced or technological in the slightest. In fact, all the fighting, and whatever one could call the strange powers he'd seen had work had seemed distinctly archaic. And Harry was definitely a human. A human with more secrets than an unpublished manuscript, a checkered past, and supernatural fighting skills, sure, but definitely human.

"You're late," said Harry flatly.

The man standing at the fore of the little group, with neatly parted grey hair and tired eyes, sighed. "Harry Potter. I might have known."

Harry grimaced at him. "I didn't know I had a reputation in the States."

The grey haired man looked at him like he was dense. "Of course you have a reputation here. You have a reputation across the worldwide Wizarding community."

Puck's jaw slackened a bit. _Wizarding community_?

"We're going to have to take you into custody to investigate this," said a younger woman, dark hair slicked up into a high, professional ponytail.

Harry's eyes flashed. "Take me into custody? I think you should be taking _them_ into custody, not me." He pointed at the heap of unconscious men lashed together in the middle of the thoroughly wrecked living room rug.

All four shifted. "Don't make this more difficult than it has to be, Harry. It's our job."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "That's what they all say. That it's their _job_. Aurors, I presume?"

One of the smaller men snorted "And they said you were intelligent."

The grey-haired one shot him a quelling glare. "The confusion is understandable. We bear little resemblance to the Auror unit in England, owing to our Muggle dress code and affiliation with the CIA."

_The CIA. _Puck was starting to feel faint. There was a worldwide conspiracy of some kind, right there under his nose, and it had just blown up in Harry's living room.

"Trust a Brit to cause an international incident," sniffed the woman. "At least Salem taught us how to keep our noses down."

"Enough," snapped the grey haired man, as Harry bristled. "Dealing with a seventeen year old boy does not exempt you from common courtesy and professional conduct."

"_Two_ seventeen year old boys, if I'm not mistaken," pointed out the ponytail woman. All eyes fell on Puck. He shifted uncomfortably. _Oh, shit._

Five sets of eyes appraised him, the suits' dark and unreadable, and Harry's green and brimming with worry.

"He's a Muggle, isn't he?" said the small, acerbic man. Harry immediately stiffened.

"It's a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy," said the ponytail woman immediately. "Magic performed in front of a Muggle. _Flashy _magic," she added with distaste, looking around the trashed room.

"Have four Death Eaters attack you at once and see how _subtle _you can be in front of non-magical people," Harry snarled.

"Back off, Dawson," ordered the grey haired man. "This doesn't damage the procedure irreparably. We take him in for questioning and wipe his memories along with the rest, send him along, no harm done."

"Absolutely _not,_" said Harry. His voice was loud, uncomfortably so. "Even the best Obliviation squads can fuck it up and leave Muggles vegetables, and if you think I'm going to let you screw around with his brain when it wasn't his fault to begin with-"

Ponytail woman and small, annoying man began talking over him at the same moment, but a single voice drowned them all out with a pointed observation.

"Obliviation isn't under our jurisdiction," pointed out a ginger-haired agent that had thus far remained quiet.

The other three agents and Harry swiveled to look at him, and Puck prayed to the high heavens that whatever came out of his mouth next was good news.

"We're allowed to dispatch hostiles and take people into custody for questioning. Not wipe memories. That's up to the Council," he repeated. His voice was quiet but sure.

"Grant is correct," conceded the grey haired man. "Calling in an Obliviation squad is not within our authority."

"So we take him to headquarters and they wipe his memories there," snapped ponytail woman. In spite of his confusion and growing fear, Puck felt a flash of annoyance. He loathed when people talked about him as if he wasn't in the room when he was clearly standing right there.

"Who says they're going to wipe his memories on the spot?" Harry snapped right back. "Maybe they have the sense to give him a fighting chance?"

Ponytail woman seemed to want to continue the argument, but her grey-haired boss spoke up. "Dawson, Grant. Check the hostiles, make sure they're knocked out and disarmed for good and then cuff them. Lee, prepare the Portkey."

Belligerent and unprofessional as the agents might have been, it was evident that they knew better than to disregard or argue against orders. The grey man fixed Puck with a penetrating stare as Lee rooted through the wreckage and selected the clock, which was one of the few things still mostly in one piece. He tapped it with a wand of his own, and it glowed an eerie blue.

Puck became acutely aware of how much his head hurt. He'd survived some kind of supernatural terrorist attack. He'd figured out that Harry was probably a wizard, whatever the hell that was going to entail. But it still wasn't over. Now he was going to get tangled up with bureaucracy. Magical bureaucracy.

The grey man had given up watching Puck, and turned back to Harry. "You're a magnet for misfortune, aren't you?" he commented. "Not to mention possessed with the talent of being able to break every rule on the books."

Harry exhaled through his nose. "You have no idea."

"The Portkey is ready, sir," said Lee.

The grey man turned back to Puck and Harry. "You know the drill, Potter."

Harry sighed again. "Yeah. I do."

"On the count of three?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?" commented Harry. He looked over at Puck. "On the count of three, grab the clock, okay, Puck?"

"What?" As commands went, Puck had heard few things stranger.

"Just do it, okay? Trust me."

And Puck did. When he grabbed the clock on "three", he felt himself being jerked behind the navel and pulled into oblivion.

* * *

><p>Ahaha. You guys are gonna hate me for this too. I just can't help myself! But there is a method behind this all, pinky promise.<p> 


	13. Chapter 13

AN: It was way, wayyyy too much fun to imagine this kind of stuff. It really appeals to the conspiracy theorist within, methinks. And I just gotta say, wow, it's chapter thirteen already and you guys are still sticking with this! I'm amazed by that and ridiculously thrilled by every little notification of reviews and alerts and favorites that float into my inbox, so thanks a million times to anyone out there making that happen. Oh yes, and I don't own this, none of this, I'm just playing in the sandbox here.

* * *

><p>"Mind telling me where exactly we are?" asked Harry.<p>

Dawson's eyes flicked sideways, as if determining whether or not he was worthy of an answer. "Washington, D.C. The nation's capital."

"Yes, I know that," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "Shocking as it may be for you to find out; I actually know how to read maps. I just thought you'd be somewhere around Central Intelligence Agency headquarters, seeing as you mentioned you were affiliated."

"We _were_ centered at the original CIA headquarters until the late seventies," admitted Dawson grudgingly. "Until our head of department had a falling out with the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency."

"I was with the department at the time," said the grey-haired man conversationally. "I believe the day we laid the blueprints for new headquarters was the day our head turned the Director's desk into a warthog."

Neither Harry nor the other agent who had accompanied them blinked, but Puck wasn't able to repress a snort. Harry couldn't blame him. For a worldwide conspiracy, the Wizarding community could tend toward the ridiculous.

They continued marching along the dank, dark passage they'd Portkeyed into. The other two agents had branched off at a different passage with the bound and cuffed band of Death Eaters long ago. Harry looked up at a bit of mold that had attached itself to the low ceiling and the flickering bare fluorescent bulb. "You still haven't told me where we are."

"Underneath the White House," said the grey man. It occurred to Harry that the man hadn't told him his name. It also occurred to Harry that Dawson probably wasn't Dawson's name anyway, and he could spend his life trying and never find out the name of the grey haired man.

"Underneath?" Puck frowned.

"You think the White House is just the Oval Office and the pretty gardens?" asked Dawson. "Think again. There was already a quite impressive underground network under the House. We simply…extended it."

"Sweet." Puck looked up at the moldy ceiling with a new appreciation.

"Don't get used to it," snapped Dawson. "By this time tomorrow you'll remember neither the White House nor this conversation."

Harry had opened his mouth to snap back, but the grey man raised his hands. Both of them immediately fell silent. They had finally reached the end of the hallway. They stood in front of a nondescript black door that had clearly been recently repainted.

"I see that magic makes you talented at dramatic entrances," drawled Puck. Harry blinked. Puck was certainly taking this much better than he'd expected, and he hadn't even tagged along with Santana to that restaurant's bar. Although, to be fair, watching a living room get blown to pieces and then getting dragged into the U.S.A.'s Auror Department Headquarters deep underneath the basement of the White House had to be a pretty good wake-up call.

Dawson shook her head and her carefully slicked ponytail quivered_._ "That's because you were with us when you came down this hallway. If you had somehow managed to stumble your way in on your own? I trust that the flames that would have swooped down and incinerated your ridiculous_ Jersey Shore _hairdo would have been adequately theatrical."

_Kurt would have strong words if he ever saw this woman_, Harry thought idly. In fact, he'd love to snap this woman's wand in half and lock her in a cage with Santana and Kurt. A highly trained Auror versus a pair of high school cheerleaders? Well, Kurt and Santana had been under Coach Sylvester's most distinguished tutelage. He'd put his money on the cheerleaders.

The grey man didn't dignify any of this with a reply. Instead, he pressed his palm to the door, which made a faint humming sound and then swung open to admit them.

"Had you tried that, there wouldn't have been enough ashes left of you to scatter at sea," said Dawson. She sounded far too cheerful.

"If this place somehow incinerates me, I swear to God I will hire someone to season your lunch with my ashes, and then I'll come back to haunt you every moment of every day," snapped Puck.

Dawson waved her hand dismissively. "I'll summon the Undead Council to put a ghostly restraining order on you."

Puck went purple and shut his mouth as he and Harry followed the grey-haired man in the door, and Dawson brought up the rear. Dawson's heels clicked audibly on surgically clean marble flooring. The room they stepped into was perfectly circular, with a vaulted glass-paneled ceiling. Harry could see a swirl of stars and scudding clouds through the glass. Puck's brows knit.

"Correct me if I heard wrong, but we're underneath the White House, correct? As in, underground?"

"Magic," Harry shrugged. "The Ministry back home is underground too, and they have windows."

"Nice to see that people put supernatural powers to good use, solving the world's problems and all."

"Oh, I don't know Puck; I think Rachel and Kurt would probably agree that lack of lighting in basements _is_ a pressing issue."

"Would you shut up, both of you?" snapped Dawson.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just trying to ease up my nerves in face of what may or may not be a permanent brain wipe for me. But clearly, my mental well being pales in the face of your peace of mind. So by all means, carry on," said Puck, his voice dripping with disdain. He'd clearly learned a thing or two from time spent around Quinn and Santana. Harry had to admire his gall. It was one thing to bitch at Quinn, it was entirely another to bitch at a woman with full command of magic.

They crossed the marble tiled room and entered yet another hallway that might have been a part of any other office block in the city. It was carpeted in that indistinct mix of grey-blue-brown-maroon native to office blocks and medical centers, white-walled and would have been extraordinarily ordinary, if it wasn't for the occasional fireplace set into the paneled walls where legions of other black-suited agents would pop up in sporadic bursts of green flame, and neat blue office memos constructed of pressed linen paper zipping around the air. At the end of the hall, they stopped again in front of door that was indistinguishable from any other door dotting the hallway save for a gold nameplate hammered into the door. Harry tried to read it, but the letters scattered and shifted before his eyes could focus and form a word of them.

A memo came zooming over and shuddered to a halt in front of the grey-haired man, who snatched it out of the air, unfolded it, and scanned it. He then tossed it over his shoulder, where it refolded itself and zoomed away again, straight into one of the fireplaces.

"Dawson, you're needed in level three at once."

Dawson frowned. "Level three? But Lee and Grant should have been more than enough to escort the hostiles."

"They were," said the grey-haired man. "But the body of a fifth was discovered, along with a witch who was on scene at the time."

Dawson said nothing, only took her orders and disappeared into the nearest fireplace. The unpleasant churning in Harry's stomach returned, along with the iron tang of blood and burning flesh singing the night air. _Body. _He had _killed_ Greyback. Not that he was at all sorry that the world was rid of a murdering pedophilic werewolf, and he had a pretty strong self-defense argument on his own side, but still. It didn't make knowing that he'd killed someone any easier. Cho was in no danger, though. Or at least, she should be in no kind of trouble. As far as he knew she hadn't even had the time to fire off a curse.

The grey haired man ushered both he and Puck inside the office. It somehow didn't surprise Harry that the desk was crafted of brushed stainless steel and the rest of the room was almost completely bare. "Have a seat," said the grey haired man, flicking his wand casually as he settled into the imposing black leather seat behind the desk. A pair of old-fashioned wingback chairs materialized. Harry sat down but Puck remained standing, still wary. Harry gave him a little encouraging sort of nod and Puck sank into the chair, but remained perched close to the edge, chin jutting out.

The grey-haired man took a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then placed his palms flat on the desk on top of the single sheet of legal sized paper laid in out between them. "So, Mr. Potter, do you think you can offer me any explanation as to why five British war criminals somehow made their way into Lima, Ohio, and why you were waiting for them there?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know full well why they were there."

"That's as may be, but there's still no explanation concerning your own presence in a cow town in Ohio."

Puck looked as though he thought the man had a point.

Harry twisted his fingers, feeling the answer he was about to give might sound extraordinarily conceited. "You are aware that I am subject to…no small amount of attention from the media back home, right?" He could feel Puck's eyes on him, but he ignored it and stared straight ahead. He'd explain later, if they didn't turn his brains to mush.

"Can't say that's it's a situation I entirely empathize with, but yes, I am aware."

"The media attention was getting a bit…obstructive. I couldn't even get a bloody coffee without it being headlines the next day and I'm pretty sure I was getting four marriage proposals a day, not to mention the PR department at the Ministry wouldn't leave me the hell alone."

"So you ran away," said the grey man. His stare made Harry shift uncomfortably.

"I couldn't think of a way to deal with it at the time." Despite himself, he felt a blush creep up his neck.

"I see. And you brought an entourage of enemies along with you?"

"No. I don't find enemies. They find me."

"And how exactly did they find you?"

"It was really just Greyback, actually," said Harry. The man lifted an eyebrow. "Um…the fifth body that they sent your agent in to investigate. He was a rogue werewolf."

The man tilted his head, and Harry could hear the vertebrae in his neck ripple and pop. "He was here searching for victims in a quiet spot and he ran into you, was it? Classic hostile werewolf pattern."

Harry nodded. "He snagged a substitute position at the school I'd been attending."

Puck's eyes widened in realization. "The creepy ass history sub that you freaked out when you saw?"

"That would be the one."

"And you didn't seek to inform proper authorities? Greyback was a clear danger," said the grey-haired man.

"You think I didn't know that? I was backed into a corner. He had contacts, and if I threatened to turn him in or bring in reinforcements he'd level the school and murder the kids in the time it would take to get to him and bring him down."

"You may as well have informed us, seeing as you set him off anyway."

Harry pressed a finger to his temple, which was now throbbing. "Thanks for mentioning that, I hadn't noticed. I didn't actually _do_ anything to set him off, for your information. An old friend who was present at the final battle happened to drop into town to visit some cousins. Greyback caught wind of her, assumed I had called her in as reinforcement, and attacked her."

"And that was how he died?"

"Yeah. He used the Dark Mark to set off the alert, though, so the others attacked my apartment, which is how _he_ got dragged into this." Harry indicated Puck.

The man appraised Puck for a moment, before sighing and dropping his head into his hands. "Do you have any idea how much of a headache this is going to be? Cover up work on your apartment floor, investigation to confirm that you broke the Statute of Secrecy only on defensive grounds, on top of transporting apprehended Death Eaters back to Britain to stand trial for war crimes?"

It was Puck that spoke up this time. "You can't just try them here?"

The man's shoulders seemed to sag. "International protocol prohibits. I wish, though. Damn United Wizarding League. In my day, we could send 'em packing straight to Alcatraz."

"You could send them to Guantanamo instead," suggested Puck.

"I appreciate the thought, but the Wizengamot would have my head, and then the press would spin it into World War III."

Harry drummed his fingers on the red velour arm of the chair. "As exciting as this history lesson may be, I'd like to cut to the chase. What's going to happen to Puck?"

Puck froze, but Harry could see the tendons in his neck cord out.

"As Dawson has so enthusiastically informed you, were we to follow the textbook, we'd have to Obliviate him."

Puck seemed to have frozen up entirely and Harry opened his mouth immediately to protest.

"But," continued the man, holding up his hand to forestall any complaints. "That tends to apply in the event that the Muggle in question who has witnessed blatant acts of magic is not connected with any of the magic users."

"Meaning…"

"Mind wiping tends to be the protocol when the Muggle is an innocent bystander, has no long-term connections with anyone magical, and is therefore unlikely to suffer any adverse effects from an Obliviation. However, assuming the two of you are on more than an acquaintance basis, which, judging from his presence in your apartment-" grey man took a moment to give a pointed look to Puck-"and frequent shared references to other friends and events, is true, then Obliviation would _not _be standard operative procedure. Wiping all magical memory would involve not only wiping all memory of the incident, but wiping memories of Harry, which at this point are quite extensive. Removing more long-term memories carries a much higher risk of brain damage."

Harry was briefly reminded of Gilderoy Lockhart; handsome, vacant-eyed, and led around like a child on a leash by the healer at St. Mungo's.

"So all of this means that…I get to keep my memories?" asked Puck slowly, as if afraid that if his usual loud manner bled through, the grey man would revoke the offer and wipe his memories on the spot.

A beat's pause. And then-

"Yes."

Puck exhaled loudly and finally slumped back into his chair. Harry felt the nervous pit in his stomach dissolve at long last.

"But," continued the grey-haired man, "I trust you realize the gravity of the situation? You are not, under _any _circumstances, allowed to divulge either the existence of magic or what happened in that apartment. Do so, and you can kiss those memories, as well as Mr. Potter here goodbye."

"Yeah, I won't talk. I'm not complete fucking stupid." Puck chose to ignore the wording of the grey man's sentence, and so did Harry. They'd deal with that if the time ever came.

"I should've known," said Harry suddenly, slapping the arm of the chair with a little more vehemence than necessary.

The grey man raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. How in the hell else would people be able to start families with Muggles if Obliviation was a blanket rule? Merlin, it should've been obvious."

"So I just spent a good half hour freaking out over nothing?" said Puck, looking put out.

The grey haired man seemed amused for a change. "I don't know if one would call discovery of magic along with an entire underground network of government _nothing_."

Puck shrugged. "Weird shit happens all the time. Now I just have the explanation for it."

The grey-haired man observed him for a long moment. "If more people thought like you, I wouldn't have an office buried under the White House."

* * *

><p>It was four in the morning when they left the headquarters of the American Auror department. Just because the situation concerning Puck's brain had been cleared up quickly didn't mean the other issues at hand tidied up after themselves. There was Greyback's still charred and smoking body, for starters, not to mention a very shell-shocked Cho Chang. Each one of them had been taken in for individual questioning, subjected to lie-detecting tests, and required to fill out a metric shitton of paperwork. There had been a couple of knotty issues concerning Harry and Cho's foreign citizenship status that kept them an hour longer than they should have been required to stay, but to his surprise, Dawson managed to smooth it over using a loophole found in one of her precious handbooks.<p>

Harry could have kissed her on the spot when she found the solution. He'd been dead terrified of the British Ministry getting wind of his presence in America. As far as they all knew across the pond, he'd disappeared without a trace. Common consensus was that he was probably camped out in the attic at the Burrow unbeknownst to any of the Weasleys themselves and subsisting on scraps from their dining room table, according to Ron. He'd prefer that the presses continue to think that way. The last thing he wanted was Rita Skeeter descending upon Lima, Ohio. She'd probably form some sort of unholy union with Jacob Ben Israel and the New Direction's relationship roulette would hit headlines in pulpy gossip magazines across the Wizarding community, with Harry featured prominently and inaccurately.

The Obliviation Squad had already checked up on all the Muggles on his floor and set his apartment straight, but by unspoken agreement, when the grey-haired man offered Harry and Puck the Portkey back, they skipped his door and went straight down to the parking lot, piled into the car, and drove to the Puckerman residence.

Neither Sarah nor Mrs. Puckerman had bothered waiting for Puck. It was competition day, after all, and competition day entailed parties, and parties entailed not getting home until the wee hours of the morning. The apartment was dark and silent save for the sound of snores filtering from Sarah's room. Both Harry and Puck tiptoed into Puck's bedroom, and Puck eased the door closed as quietly as he could.

He flicked on the desk lamp rather than the main light fixture, and Harry sat down on the edge of Puck's bed, crossing his legs. Puck followed suit and they remained like that for a few minutes, just bathed in the dim yellow light of the lamp and relishing the silence. Harry hadn't realized how incredibly how incredibly tired he was until that moment. His muscles had been running on pure adrenalin, but his fight-or-flight instinct had finally shut down, leaving behind muscles that felt as if they'd been stretched out like taffy and left to hang.

"So," said Puck at last, breaking the silence. "Magic. That was it, this whole time?"

"Yep," said Harry. "I really wasn't lying when I said it was pretty much illegal for me to tell you anything."

Puck gave a short bark of laugh and fell back on the mattress, sprawling out. "Yeah, you're telling me. I honestly believed for a while back there that they were going wipe my memories and leave me shit for brains."

"I wouldn't put it past them, honestly."

"Not that Dawson person, anyway. Bitch would've given Sue Sylvester a run for her money."

"Sue Sylvester wouldn't wipe your brains, though. She'd want all your memories of suffering and pain and humiliation intact."

Puck laughed, but almost as soon as he did, his face took on an unusually sober expression and he quieted. "So. Let me get something straight here."

He was wearing an expression that Harry usually associated with Hermione Granger digging and probing for information, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"You said you were here in this shithole to escape…media attention?"

Harry rubbed his elbows. "Yeah. It was getting pretty awful." He thought of his final meeting with the public relations department and shuddered. Any longer in the place, and he might very well have snapped and damaged Sawyer permanently.

Puck blinked. "Okay. So you're some kind of mega celebrity wizard. What exactly are you famous for? And why would that involve convicts going after you?"

_Well, shit. _Sometimes he thought his life would be easier if his friends had shorter attention spans or a few brain cells less. "I…don't know how to talk about this."

"You're telling me it gets more classified than a worldwide conspiracy?"

"Yes…I mean, no. Shit. I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"It's just…telling you about it would kind of entail my entire bloody life story." Something in Harry's stomach churned at the idea of talking about _everything_, about really stepping back and evaluating the miserable melodrama that his childhood looked like.

The line of Puck's mouth softened. "I don't mind hearing it."

And Harry could tell that he really didn't. After all, this was the guy who told him about everything, from his befuddled and wine-soaked mother to his own daughter, somewhere out there in the world with Rachel's biological mother, to his own unhappy childhood with his patchy and liquor-soaked father. "I'm just….I'm so tired right now, I don't know if I can talk about it. Can this wait until tomorrow morning?" He looked at the clock, and realized it had been morning for about four and a half hours already. "Or this afternoon? Or something? I'm not deflecting, honestly," he added, seeing the beginning of a frown sketch itself on Puck's face.

"I guess I could use some sleep too," Puck admitted. His eyelids began to flutter closed.

Sleep began to finally press down on Harry, and he too closed his eyes, not bothering to move from the mattress onto the floor. "I'm not running away this time," he mumbled more to himself than to Puck.

The mattress shook a bit as Puck laughed sleepily. "And I'll be right here when you wake up."

And if sometime between four thirty and daybreak they shifted closer and wound up tangled together in sleep, neither chose to mention it.

* * *

><p>Well d'awwww. It really ended up cheesier than I meant it to.<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

AN: I apologize for the relative lateness of this! I had a metric fuckton of homework plus I attended a fairly late showing of the Hunger Games the other night, so it kind of threw my schedule off. Anyhow, it's kind of a quiet chapter this time around, but hey, sometimes you need to slow the pace down a bit, yeah? So many thanks for the continued positive feedback, I couldn't keep going if it wasn't for you guys. Oh yeah, and I own nothing. If you thought I did, I suggest you go brush up on copyright laws.

* * *

><p>Puck hadn't opened his eyes just yet, but it felt like noon. He could feel the sun's rays dancing through the bedroom window and across his face, and the laziness in his bones that came from sleeping in late after a mildly traumatic night.<p>

_Traumatic night. _Well, spending an hour in a bus with Rachel Berry and having to sit at the dinner table with her was pretty traumatic. A bunch of superspy wizards hiding under the White House was pretty traumatic. Watching Harry's living room getting blown to bits was pretty traumatic.

_Harry_. He came to the realization that something warm and heavy and suspiciously like a body was pressed against his side, and he cracked one eye open and realized that his suspicions were indeed correct. Harry was out cold and tucked against Puck's side. Puck realized then that he had an arm thrown over Harry. He was struck then by how awkward, objectively speaking, the situation should have been, and briefly contemplated removing his arm and rolling over to the opposite end of the bed. He discovered to his own surprise that he really didn't want to. As awkward as it should have been, it was comfortable and natural just lying there and damn if he wasn't staring at Harry just a little bit, watching the rise and fall of his chest and the relaxed contours of his face. He'd never actually woken up next to someone before, never took the time to just enjoy the morning quiet. The moment was perfect.

It might have been a minute or an hour later, Puck didn't know, but presently Harry opened his own eyes. His green eyes were glassy and confused for a moment in the morning light, but when he finally focused his eyes went enormous and he tensed up.

"Damn. Should this be awkward?"

Puck couldn't help but laugh. "Only if you want it to be?"

"Then I don't want it to be," said Harry decisively. He leaned back again, and uncoiled like a cat lying down to rest. They stayed like that for a while in companionable silence, until Harry finally broke it. "I owe you the whole story now, don't I?"

"You did promise," said Puck. He rolled over so that he was leaning on his side, chin resting in the palm of his hand and elbow propped up, the better to observe Harry. Harry didn't look panicked or queasy or any of the things that he might have been, only thoughtful.

"You know, it's so strange," he said. "I never had to sit down and tell my life story to people before. They just kind of…knew everything already."

Puck dimly remembered something about publicity the night before. "Well, here's your chance to make everything sound a whole lot cooler than it was," he said, grinning.

Harry flashed a smile, almost in spite of himself. "No, the press does a good job of that on their own. I'm here to tell the truth."

"Take your time," said Puck, and he meant it. The truth wasn't always easy. Digging up your own skeletons wasn't always easy.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to look inward for a bit, until he said bluntly: "My parents were murdered on Halloween night. I was a year old."

Puck felt something twist hard and painfully in his chest. Harry had mentioned dead parents, but never mentioned that they were murdered. It filled his mind with all sorts of horrible thoughts. What if he or Quinn died? What if Rachel's mother died? That would leave Beth an orphan, same as Harry, same as any tortured hero of a coming of age tale.

Harry continued, though, oblivious. "They shipped me off to my aunt and uncle. I didn't know anything. I didn't know about magic, didn't know that my parents had been murdered. They told me it was a car crash." He paused for a moment, struggling with wording. "They treated me like shit."

Puck lifted an eyebrow, wanting to know more but feeling that it would be exceedingly rude even by his standards to ask to hear more. Harry was smart enough to pick up on that, though.

"It wasn't as bad as it might have been, but it wasn't great. I didn't always get to eat. I slept in the cupboard. But I came out alive, and that's what counted."

That ugly twisting feeling was back again.

"I turned eleven and a representative from a magical boarding school broke down my door, told me I had powers, and informed me that I was famous in the Wizarding world. Because my parents had died, and I hadn't. They were murdered by the leader of the Death Eaters."

Puck thought of the gang that had shown up the previous night, and felt all the little puzzle pieces slowly shifting into place.

"His name was Voldemort. People never survived him. They weren't supposed to. But he tried to kill me, and he couldn't, and his power broke. And it made me a hero. A hero because he killed everyone else and he couldn't kill me." His voice was thick now, and Puck knew it was thick with self hate. Knew it because he couldn't count the number of times he'd come home from school, bowed his head, and said things in that same tone of voice.

Harry barreled on though, with the distinct air of someone unleashing a floodgate of pent up secrets. "So I went to magical school, made friends, life should have been good. But Voldemort wasn't dead and if I got a galleon for every time I almost died while I was at school, I'd be a fucking rich bastard. Surviving turned me into a target. Fourth year, he finally managed to infiltrate an interschool competition, killed a schoolmate, took my blood, and made himself a body."

Puck recoiled. "He made…a body? From your blood?"

Harry laughed, but it was entirely humorless. "Up until that point, he'd been even less than human. Not a ghost, you see, because he wasn't dead. But bodiless, until he took my blood."

It occurred to Puck that magic was kind of an ugly thing.

"Once he had a body, he started putting an army together. I tried warning people. No one believed me. Shit blew up eventually, my godfather was killed and it was my fucking _fault_, and I was finally informed of a prophecy."

"Like…a prediction of the future? Magic does that too?"

"Sort of. It turned out, I was destined to either kill Voldemort or get killed. 'Neither can live while the other survives'," he intoned dully, like it was a line he'd picked over in his brain many times.

"Wow…shit. Talk about a hanging axe." Puck honestly didn't have it in him to be much more eloquent than that. It all was starting to make a horrifying sort of sense now, all of Harry's little behavioral habits and personality traits coming together to form a person whom fate and fortune had shitted on.

Harry snorted. "No kidding. And then the man who had been my mentor died, but not before we both figured out that Voldemort had gone beyond…the usual evil."

"A mass murder reassembling his body from blood isn't the usual evil?"

"Not when there's magic involved. He split his soul into seven pieces through the act of murder, and stored six of those pieces in different objects. As long as those objects existed, he could never die. Which meant that if I wanted to kill him I had to get rid of all those things first, whereas if he wanted to kill me all he had to do was track me down and say the word. Anyhow, he finally took over the government and there was a war and I was on the run with two friends the whole time, tracking down those bits of his soul."

"That shit about gang wars was a lie the whole time, right? It was actually a Wizarding coup?"

"Right in one. Finally, we managed to get rid of the bits of his soul but there was a final battle at my school. So many people died. _Kids_ died. And that was the night I found out that I had to die. Because the night he killed me, he attached a bit of his soul to mine. So I did it, I offered myself up to die."

Bile was rising in Puck's throat, because he could picture it so clearly. Dead kids and dead parents and Harry marching off to his own death.

"He couldn't kill me, though, because of that. When he fired the killing curse, it killed that bit of his soul and not me, and I survived to finally take him down. It just took so _long_. And so many people died, and a lot of it was because I didn't know any better and didn't turn myself up to die earlier." That bitter edge was creeping back into Harry's voice.

Puck put out a hand hesitantly. He really wasn't experienced with this kind of thing. He knew how to beat people up or fuck them senseless, not offer comfort and sympathy. He rested a hand on Harry's knee anyway, though. "You can't hold yourself responsible for what a horrible murdering bastard chose to do. You had to balls to offer yourself up to die for the world. Not everybody would be able to make that choice."

Harry tilted his head, disbelief lurking in his expression.

"I'm serious," said Puck, and he was. "Do you honestly think that anyone in this shithole would be willing to sacrifice that much to save people other than themselves? Probably not. Life dumped a truckload of shit on you, and yet you managed to turn out to be one of the best people I've ever met. You have a lot to be proud of."

Harry was frowning now, but it wasn't an angry frown. It was simply confused. "I killed people. I was the reason others died. This doesn't bother you?"

"It would bother me if you were some kind of serial killer creep, but you're not, so it doesn't. You killed in self defense, and other people died because it was a _war._"

Harry's expression was still clouded. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because sometimes, shit really is that simple. You're a good person who went through bad stuff. Doesn't mean you need to beat yourself up over it for the rest of your life. Trust me, I'm talking from experience. If I had existential guilt for every time in the past that I hurt someone, I'd be sitting in this room for the rest of my life and where the hell would that get anyone? Nowhere."

Harry cracked a smile at long last, and Puck felt his lungs give an uncomfortable squeeze. "I keep forgetting this town put you through a mill yourself. I suppose you would know what the hell you're talking about."

"Yeah, I would, come to think of it." He had never thought of it that way before. "We turned out pretty functional considering what we started out with, yeah?"

Harry finally tossed back his head and laughed, and Puck didn't think he'd ever heard such a freeing sound in the world. "Yes, we're damn fantastic." And for once, it was said without a trace of sarcasm.

* * *

><p>It was probably nine o'clock at night, and Harry and Puck were still holed up in Puck's bedroom, trying to bullshit answers on homework that had been neglected in favor of Regionals and a rogue gang of Death Eaters. Their conversations were different now, though, now that Harry wasn't reeling in every time he seemed in danger of slipping and dropping an anecdote about his old life.<p>

Harry dropped his head on his Physics textbook. "Merlin, it feels so damn good to not have to lie all the time, you have no idea."

"I don't think you ever actually lied to me," Puck pointed out.

Harry raised his head an inch off the book. "Since when?"

"Since always. You never actually lied. You just straight up told me when you weren't allowed to say something."

"Huh. I never realized that."

Puck punched him on the shoulder. "Well, now you do. Now quit trying to feel like an awful person all the time."

* * *

><p>Monday came, and they shuffled into school. It was strange, the way that the crowds kept going like nothing had ever happened but Puck was now savvy to the fact that an entire underground of magic lurked under the surface of society. Knowing all of the stuff he knew made him feel great, like there was more to life than what he'd known before, but it also made him depressed. There was so much to see out in the world and there he was, crammed in McKinley High and sharing the locker room with mouth breathing bastards like Azimio and Karofsky.<p>

People were whispering, though, when Harry and Puck walked in together, and Puck couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like it should have been a foreign sight. Puck had been drifting farther and farther away from the football crowd and actually spent free time hanging out with Glee people these days.

But then he realized that the Glee people themselves were staring too. Finn turned from his locker and gave Puck and Harry that kind of pop-eyed, blank expression that he usually wore in a math class. Quinn did a slow blink. Tina caught sight of them out of the corner of her compact mirror and stabbed herself in the eye with her mascara.

"The fuck is up with everyone today?" asked Puck.

Harry shrugged. "Beats me."

But then from around the corner came a wolf-whistle. "Fuckin' finally," announced a triumphant Santana Lopez.

Puck exchanged a glance with Harry, who looked just as baffled as he did. And then it hit him.

The letterman jacket.

Harry was wearing Puck's letterman jacket. They'd had another impromptu sleepover the night before, so of course Harry didn't have a change of clothes. Puck had given him a t-shirt and the letterman to borrow, completely forgetting what that would mean to the rest of the school at large.

_Well, shit. _"Can it, Satan. We're not fucking. He just needed a jacket."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, is that what it is? If I wear your clothes it means we're fucking?"

"Pretty much, yeah," said Puck. The red letterman, after all, was sacred material at McKinley high, the utmost of status symbols, and the average footballer entrusted it to only two people: himself and his latest girlfriend.

Harry plucked at the collar a bit. "Sorry to let you down, Santana. No new gossip here. He really was just letting me wear the jacket."

Santana looked distinctly crestfallen. "Good luck convincing everyone else the rest of today, though," she said. "I can sniff sex from a mile away, so I can tell that you blue-balled bastards are being honest and you losers aren't hitting anything anyway. The rest of the school? Not so much."

Harry look thoughtful for a moment, and then shrugged out of the jacket, handing it back to Puck. "Whatever. It's not even that cold. I'd hate to spread false rumors, yeah?" He threw a wink at Santana who only gave him a filthy glare, and then he wandered off to first period.

When he had turned the corner, Santana shook her head disapprovingly at Puck. "I'm disappointed, Puckerman. Aren't you supposed to be my male counterpart in crime? And you can't even get that British bonbon to put out."

She too left, leaving Puck leaning up against the locker and still holding his jacket. He was mildly disappointed. It had been oddly gratifying, the sight of Harry walking around in _his _jacket. And if people thought they were fucking, so what? It wasn't so far from what he actually wanted.

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel was back at McKinley High. Puck felt his respect for Santana go up another notch. Their relationship back in the day hadn't been good for much other than hate sex and he'd be lying if he claimed to actually want to spend time around her, but he had a healthy respect for her scheming prowess. She'd somehow blackmailed Karofsky into joining the Bullywhips, ridiculous red satin beret and all, and lured Kurt back into McKinley so they'd have an even better shot at Nationals, and she'd done it all in teetering five inch heels and a Cheshire cat grin.<p>

Kurt was ecstatic to be back at McKinley, probably far more than he should have been. The New Directions were thrilled to have him back and fired up for New York and Nationals. Most of the school at large didn't care, except to have him back as a spectacle in the hallways to point and whisper at whenever he wore something particularly wild. But the rest of the jocks? They weren't pleased.

Puck and Harry were minding their own business in the courtyard, copying Artie's Physics homework when they overheard a conversation.

"Hummel is back? Seriously? Didn't the pussy run screaming like four months ago?"

"Yeah, I thought so too. But the bitch just came back from more."

"Jesus Christ. And life was so great around here without that fagginess."

Puck could almost see Harry's hackles raise. He started to rise from his own seat, Physics homework be damned.

"Honestly, the fag should just leave again. The school was so nice without all the gay dirtying up the place."

Harry snorted then, audibly, and the two jocks deep in conversation turned to look at him. "Honestly? You two thought that Kurt was the only gay person in the school, and his being here stunk the place up?"

The two jocks gave Harry a look like he was dense, which was rather rich in irony from Puck's perspective. "Yeah? Look at the shit he wears. Gay as hell, and he's the only one who wears it."

Puck spoke up. "You think clothes make people gay? That's fucking stupid."

"You know, he's right," said one of the jocks, and Puck started. He didn't think they were likely to get through to them. "It's not the clothes that make the gay, it's the gay that makes the clothes," he continued, and Puck's heart sank.

"Yeah, it makes sense, doesn't it? If you like cock, you wear clothes that ask for it."

Harry was regarding them with a slightly dumbfounded expression, but Puck knew him well enough to see the rage growing. "There's nothing wrong with what he likes to wear. And furthermore, I'll have you idiots know, being interested in men doesn't mean you dress like you 'ask for it', whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. Like me, for starters. Do I look like I'm 'asking for it' to you?" His expression was positively terrifying, and the pair of jocks shrunk back a bit. Harry regarded them for another moment, letting them stew a bit in fear, before turning on his heels and storming off.

Puck's insides were dancing the conga. Harry liked dudes. _He had a shot_. And damn if he wasn't hot as hell when he was angry.

* * *

><p>Sometime in the middle of fourth period, Becky the Cheerio barged in, nose in the air, with a note for Puck. It was an order to go down to Sue Sylvester's office immediately.<p>

Puck considered himself a brave man. He'd outlasted everything from juvenile detention to show choir warfare to magician gangs. But nevertheless, he was shaking in his shoes as he knocked on the door to Sue Sylvester's office. He couldn't remember what he'd done. Had he insulted a Cheerio? Had he breathed within a hundred yard radius of Coach Sylvester? Had she decided to jump to the next level and involve him in her machinations to tear down the Glee Club from within?

She pulled open the door, and peered down her nose at him, before letting out a gust of air and resettling herself at her desk, shuffling through files.

"Touch anything in my office again, Jersey Shore, and I'll personally see to it that you never procreate again."

"I knocked on the door."

"And? Who told you to sully the door to my haven with your unclean, STD infested fingers? Now have a seat on the plastic wrapped chair, and try not to exhale on my desk. I wouldn't want to get your germs on it, and then become inflicted with the sudden urge to grow a squirrel on top of my head."

Puck gingerly sat down on the edge of the chair, one hand moving self-consciously toward his hair. "So? Why am I here?"

Coach Sylvester was now setting about making an iron shake, throwing what looked suspiciously like human knuckle bones into the mix. "You're here because you have somehow managed to thrust your snotty, snubby nose into international magical affairs and recruited the world's shortest, brattiest war hero for your pimply and nasally gang of worthless teenagers attempting to teach trite After School Special messages by way of Journey and grossly misused top 40 tunes."

Puck, for once in his life, was near speechless. "You know about magic?"

"During my stint with the CIA in the seventies, I may or may not have been assigned to infiltrate the Soviet Ministry of Magic and had a brief affair with the Minister himself before snapping his wand in half, neutering him, and escaping from the window of a sixteenth floor room by way of a flying tin can." She was now adding iron shavings to her shake.

Puck opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off as she snapped the lid shut on her shake container and shook it ferociously, as if it had done her great personal harm. "Now, man-slut-in-training, I don't think I need to impress on you the seriousness of the situation?"

Puck gulped and shook his head.

"Breathe a word of magic to anyone but midget Scarface and you will find yourself a world of hurt. The Auror department may not have had the sense to get one of their own useless bints to tail you, but remember, Sue Sylvester has _eyes. Everywhere._ One hundred and sixty-three eyes to be precise, not counting the beautiful orbs of truth and justice currently set in my face that you have been blessed with the opportunity to admire. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Coach," he gulped.

"Good. You are excused. Try not to set off the landmine to the left of the door on your way out. It took my Cheerios six hours and nineteen toothbrushes to get the blood off the ceiling the last time someone set it off."

Puck ran out the door faster than he'd ever run in his life.

* * *

><p>Sue Sylvester is a precious gem and I can't believe I didn't use her in this story earlier. But never fear, she'll appear again soon.<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Oh my. It's practically April now. Have I really been writing this for over three months already? And people are still reading it? It's really kind of heartening. Many more thanks for the reviews and the alerts and the favorites. I'm glad people enjoyed Sue last chapter. And hey, never fear. She might not appear in this chapter, but she _will_ return, and that's a promise.

I'm not RIB. I'm not JKR. I own nothing.

* * *

><p>Harry was finally freed from the pressing worry of attack and secrecy. Instead, he was at long last assaulted by the club's panic over Nationals. They were getting down to the wire. A month and a half to go, then a month, then three weeks, and they still hadn't finalized their set list. <em>Hermione would not approve<em>, he thought. He still missed Ron and Hermione horribly, even all of the nagging and the knowing glances that had so tormented him before, and yet the ache was starting to dull. The New Directions had adopted him just as much as the Gryffindor house or the Weasleys had. It occurred to him then that perhaps they should meet. In his mind it seemed logical to bring the two halves of his new life together, anyhow.

Perhaps it should have set off a warning bell letting him know he really was in deep when he thought of the New Directions as a part of his life just as important as the first friends he had ever made. But he was preoccupied.

* * *

><p>When he ambled into the choir room on a lazy Tuesday afternoon, two sheets were pinned up next to the whiteboard.<p>

"Room assignments," said Schuester brightly. "For Nationals! With our budget, there's no way anyone's getting a room to themselves."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "We don't get to choose our own roommates?"

"Of course you do, guys, that's why it's a signup list!" Schuester's enthusiasm was somehow never dampened, even in the face of withering disdain.

Harry walked up to the lists and frowned. "Then why is it that somebody already signed me up for a room, even though I just got here? Puck? Was that you?"

Puck materialized next to his shoulder. "Nope, definitely not me."

Both turned simultaneously back to face the rows of seats. From her perch on Brittany's lap, Santana waggled her fingers at them and fluttered her eyelashes innocently. "Have fun rooming together, boys."

Puck and Harry exchanged glances. Most of the club didn't seem to have noticed anything, but Harry felt that both Santana and Kurt's smirks were rather knowing.

* * *

><p>The airplane was freezing cold. Airplanes always were, it seemed. Harry had only been on one twice in his life; from London to New York and then from New York to Columbus, but he already knew that he hated planes. They were cramped, they were cold, and they had none of the thrill that flying on a broomstick did.<p>

Puck seemed to agree; his face was a delicate shade of green and he was leaning with his forehead pressed against the tiny window.

"I told you not to eat the peanuts," Mercedes hissed at him from behind them through the space between the seats.

"Not the peanuts," Puck mumbled.

"Then what is it?" asked Harry.

"We're like twenty thousand fucking feet in the air," snapped Puck, forehead still pressed against the windowpane. "And I feel like shit."

"Oh my God, you have motion sickness," said Mercedes, and Harry heard a thump as she backed up against the seat behind them in an effort to get as far away from Puck as possible.

"It's not motion sickness!"

"You're afraid of heights?" Harry guessed.

Puck only shut his eyes. Harry decided to take that as an affirmative. "So why the hell did you take the window seat?"

"I've never been on a plane before," he said.

Harry's hair was ruffled by the wind as Kurt rushed down the aisle past the both of them, and straight into the airplane bathroom.

"Neither has Kurt, if it makes you feel any better," said Mercedes. Even out in the cabin, they could hear the sound of retching.

Puck still looked vaguely nauseated, but a little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

><p>"Oh my <em>God<em>," Tina whispered as they all stood around awkwardly in the hotel lobby, clutching their suitcases and looking like the country bumpkins that they were.

"I saw some lady walk by wearing an actual Valentino," said Kurt, looking equally worshipful.

"I spy the hotel bar," said Santana, eyes trailing after the entrance to the bar.

"Don't even think about it," called Schuester over his shoulder from the marble-topped check in counter, even though he was too far away to have heard Santana.

"It's okay," said Brittany, patting her on the shoulder. "Lord Tubbington packed a bottle of chardonnay in my bag, in case of the attack of the munchkins."

"Thanks, sweetheart," said Santana, her tone soft but her eyes daring anyone to fight her.

Nobody, not even Puck or Kurt, had the gall to pass a comment.

"As fantastic as this all is, what the hell are we going to be doing by the day after tomorrow? We don't have any songs for Nationals," said Harry to the group at large.

Not a single person had an answer to that except for Rachel, who had started to cry.

By the time they had collected their card keys from Schuester and traipsed up to their rooms, though, the somber mood had passed and the excitement was setting in. Sam and Finn promptly commenced having a pillow fight.

"That's the gayest thing I've ever seen, and I was up at the pride parade in Columbus two months ago," said Santana.

"What were you doing at a pride parade?" asked Rachel. Sometimes she was a tad slow on the uptake.

"Getting makeup tips from drag queens, so I can teach your loverboy Boobs McGee how to play up his assets," said Santana acidly.

Rachel opened her mouth to reply, but Mercedes clamped her hand over Rachel's mouth and dragged her away to their shared room. "Don't push your luck, girl," she told Rachel. "We need your vocal cords and all of your limbs intact for competition."

Puck and Harry lugged their suitcases into their own room. Harry flopped onto one of the double beds, but Puck went over to the windows and pulled the drapes back with a dramatic flourish, exposing the New York skyline. Harry raised his head from the mattress half an inch. "I thought you were afraid of heights."

"Shut up. Being in a plane is different. This is fucking New York City."

"You like the city?"

"Holy shit, yes. It feels so…_right._"

"In what way?"

"No cows. No cornfields or some shit. No pathetic, slobbering PTA moms and no backwards hillbillies. It's the city of _dreams_."

Harry allowed a small smile to inch across his face as Puck kept sentinel by the window. A slow clap sounded from the door, though, distracting the both of them.

"How _adorable._" It was Santana, leaning up against the doorframe as if she'd been watching them for a while. She'd changed from her usual Cheerios uniform into a fire engine red shift dress, and she had a package tucked under elbow.

"Fuck off, Lopez," said Puck. "Brittany's next door getting a pre-competition pedicure with Tina and Mercedes."

Santana peeled her lips back in a sneer. "Like I didn't already know that? I'm actually here to see you two losers."

"I'm flattered," said Harry, getting to his feet and padding over to the door. "So what exactly is it that you want to discuss?"

Santana thrust the box into Harry's arms. The wrapping paper was pastel coloured, and a neat bow was taped on top.

"Well?" she asked, tapping the studded toe of her five inch heels impatiently. "Are you just gonna stand there and look at it, after I went through all of that damn effort to get you a birthday present?"

"My birthday is in July."

"Whatever. Happy early fucking birthday. Now open it."

Harry obediently peeled the paper back and opened the box. Nestled inside a bed of tissue paper were a bottle of lube, and two boxes of condoms. "What the-"

"Consider that your gift as well, Puckerman, cause I sure as hell ain't getting you anything extra on your birthday. Now have fun, boys, because I'm off to get my first ever drink in Manhattan," she said, kissing Harry on the cheek, patting Puck on the head, and striding off down the hall.

Harry wiped the lip gloss stain off his cheek, positive that if he didn't like Brittany so much he might have slapped Santana a long time ago. Puck's ears were going red as well, much as Ron's ears often did.

"Why the hell do I put up with that woman?" Puck asked Harry.

"Because Brittany would cry if you killed her. And making Brittany cry is like stomping on puppies. Or babies. Or both."

"Whatever." Puck flipped the flaps on the box back in place, hiding the condoms and lube within. Harry shoved it under the bed.

"Hiding the evidence?" asked Puck, grinning.

"I'd hate for Finn and Sam to find it and use it. After all, they were enjoying that pillow fight quite a bit."

Both left for dinner chortling, awkwardness forgotten.

* * *

><p>"I honestly can't believe that didn't work on Rachel," said Puck, bemused. They were strolling through Central Park, not having much else to do in the wake of Finn's failed attempt to win Rachel's heart back. "Serenading <em>always<em> works on her. I figured if Finn wanted her to drop her granny panties before the next millennium, all he had to do was sing to her."

"Finn's been upstaged," explained Harry. "Quite literally," he added as an afterthought.

"By who?" asked Puck. "Quinn? All that arguing was suspicious. I bet it was sexual tension, wasn't it?"

"Shut up. No. He was upstaged by Broadway." Harry had it from good information, namely Kurt, that the great Gershwin break-in had gone rather successfully.

"Rachel found another gay man to lust after?"

"Not quite. But she has established that stage performance is her heart and soul, and leaves absolutely no room for anything else."

"That makes no fucking sense. Finn's my bro and all, but he's nothing if not good drama practice."

"Well…yeah, but he's not always going to be around for her," pointed out Harry. "And I guess she doesn't want to spend time on a relationship that probably won't last."

"I thought they got along pretty well."

"They did. They do. But Rachel has her heart set on Broadway and New York, and do you really see that being a sphere that Finn would be a part of?"

"No," admitted Puck. "He falls asleep whenever Schuester assigns us a show tune and the best grades he's ever gotten are probably three-fifths of Mike's grades at most."

"Yeah, don't you see it? There's a slight disconnect in priorities. Rachel, she's got diva dreams and the willpower of a bulldozer. Lima is too small to hold her in. And Finn…he has trouble looking beyond the end of his own nose."

Puck stopped in his tracks. "So they're not getting back together because she's too good for him."

"No. I think you misunderstood. They're not getting back together because in the end, Rachel isn't cut out to be codependent, and there's no guarantee that Finn could ever follow her here."

Puck bobbed his head as if deep in thought, but didn't move. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and waited patiently. He hadn't thought that Puck had been particularly invested in Finn and Rachel's relationship. He voiced said concerns.

"No, it's not that," said Puck. "I don't know…it just made me think. You're the one that saved the Wizarding World, right? You've got options. You could leave and not look back at any time." He looked more uncomfortable than Harry had ever seen him.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Harry. "I plan on graduating here. Might as well finish some kind of school. And then maybe college or something. I'm not running away."

Puck still seemed slightly mistrustful, but the line between his brows was softening. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Believe it or not, the New Directions kind of gets to you. You know, I originally joined just to piss you off."

"You did?" Puck was laughing now rather than brooding, and somehow that took a tiny weight off of Harry's chest.

"Yeah, I did. I don't know about you, but I thought it was pretty entertaining, back when we didn't like each other. It turned out, though, every single person got to me in the end. I couldn't turn my back on you guys if I tried."

"Even Santana?"

"Especially Santana. She's…an acquired taste, but when Brittany's around, she's pretty tolerable."

"I feel ya," said Puck, and they resumed strolling down the sidewalk under the shade of the overhanging branches. "It's like a family, you know? Embarrassing everyone and always arguing and getting up into each other's shit, but we can't live without each other."

"Gross. That means we're a pretty incestuous family."

"I'd hate to have to draw the family tree."

* * *

><p>Twelfth place. <em>Twelfth place.<em>

Rachel was now genuinely crying. The rest of the group was sulking. Harry couldn't understand why. Twelfth out of fifty didn't seem so bad for a Glee Club from a podunk little Ohio town that pulled a Hail Mary pass and wrote all of its songs and choreography the night before competition.

Most of the group, however, seemed to be of the opinion that it was Rachel and Finn's fault that they had placed relatively low. The judges had not responded particularly well to public displays of affection. Harry supposed that the make out session on stage might have had something to do with it, but what did it matter? They weren't going to win anyway, not in the face of juggernauts like Vocal Adrenaline who'd been drilling the set list since the day after Regionals instead of attempting to resolve tangled love triangles. And as a person ruled by his heart rather than his head, he could appreciate the gesture. In any case, he was happy for Rachel and Finn. Sometimes their couple dynamic reminded him of Hermione and Ron.

He shook his head and left the group to go get a water bottle, but he was stopped by a firm grip on the shoulder before he got more than twenty paces. He immediately tensed and dropped his center of gravity, prepared for a fight, but a fight was not forthcoming.

It was the grey-haired man, still in his sleek black suit, and holding a fedora in one hand. Somehow, even in a crowd of high school show choir members, he was utterly inconspicuous. People's eyes seemed to skip right past him and Harry and Harry instinctively knew that their conversation was private.

"He hasn't said anything," said Harry immediately, knowing that Puck wasn't far off. "He hasn't said a _word _about magic to anyone but me."

"Relax," said the grey-haired man. "I'm not here about that."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Then what reason do you have to be here?"

"I just wanted to have a little chat."

"I haven't accidently killed any other werewolves recently, blown up any living rooms, or had close encounters with Death Eaters recently either, if that's what you're wondering."

"I'm not here about that either."

"Then I'd be much obliged if you could get to the point," said Harry, pulling on the plastic wrapping of the water bottle and attempting to look lofty and impatient. He knew he was being rude. He couldn't help it, though. Letting up his guard had gotten people he loved killed.

"I have an offer to make you," said the grey-haired man.

Harry couldn't help it. He snorted a little bit. It was like something out of a bad mafia movie. All the grey-haired man needed was a violin case and perhaps a murky childhood upbringing at the knee of a crime lord. "What kind of offer?"

"A job offer."

"No," said Harry immediately, and he turned to leave.

"Hear me out, will you?" said the grey-haired man. "You have incredible potential for Auror work. You think fast on your feet. You're experienced in dealing with the Dark Arts. You can blend in with Muggles if need be, and have a much-famed aptitude for saving people. Why not put all of this to use?"

"I've already turned down multiple offers from the Department in England, I'm not about to accept one here."

"Why not? We operate differently. Our department heads are not the ones that you have a grudge against. You could do a great deal of good here."

"I don't mean to sound spoiled, but I think I've had enough trouble to last a lifetime. I don't owe the Wizarding World anything."

"Perhaps not. But I think you owe it to yourself to at least try, if you think the state of things is so reprehensible. You could take action. You could do a great deal of good."

"Look," Harry sighed, rubbing at one of his temples. "I'm seventeen. I have another year of high school left. I want to graduate, maybe do the college thing, and work some good on the civilian level. I'm not _ready_ to jump back into another warzone. I'd hurt more than I'd help."

The grey-haired man watched him for a moment. "Maybe so. But you don't always have to run."

"I'm not running anymore," said Harry. "I said I wouldn't." He couldn't help but flick a glance back towards where the rest of the New Directions was sitting. "Why else do you think I'm still here?"

The grey-haired man surveyed him for another moment, and seemed to understand something at last. "That's as may be. Take your time. And if you have any reason at all to remain stateside, we're waiting. When and if you're ready."

He pressed a card into the palm of Harry's hand. It was made of pressed linen paper, and appeared completely blank at first. But then Harry tilted it a bit so that it caught the light, and spidery gold lettering proclaimed the mailing address of the department.

He looked up to say something to the grey-haired man, but the words died on his lips. The man was gone.

* * *

><p>Schuester was off moping with a few of the other Glee Club members. The rest of the group had split up with permission from Schuester himself to get dinner or coffee, whichever they needed to drown their sorrows. Kurt was muttering something about chocolate dipped biscotti, and Tina had finished off the last of the Godiva stash buried in her purse.<p>

As neither Harry nor Puck were significantly distressed, though, they had decided to head back to the hotel together, maybe watch a film on HBO and order room service and leave prank voice mails on Santana's cell phone.

They were standing shoulder to shoulder in a subway car on the way back to the hotel.

"What's with you?" asked Puck.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"I know you don't give two shits about the fact that we got twelfth place, because you were the only person that was totally okay with it. But you've been all quiet and stuff. So what's wrong?"

Harry felt the business card weigh on the bottom of his pocket. "I got…a job offer."

Puck raised an eyebrow. "You didn't get scouted by a record company, did you? I thought Rachel was bullshitting when she said there was a talent scout or something in the crowd."

"She probably wasn't bullshitting, but no, it wasn't anything to do with a record deal. It was our old friends," he said. "From Washington." He felt it wasn't the best idea to discuss the Auror Department in the middle of a subway car.

Puck understood him immediately anyway. "Them again? What did you say?"

"I said no. I meant it when I said that I wanted to graduate. But they gave me a business card anyway."

"I think you should hold on to that card," said Puck.

"Why?"

"I don't know. It's guaranteed job prospects after college for starters, I guess. And it seems like your kind of work. You know, being out there. Getting shit done. Being a good person."

"Really?"

Puck nodded, but he still wasn't quite looking Harry in the eye. "And…I guess, that would be a way for you to stay in the states and still keep close contact with people you used to know. I mean, if you wanted to stay in the states, that is."

That hadn't occurred to Harry. "I could stay here a while longer, yeah, if I took that job. Stay close to people that I love," he said, without really thinking.

Puck tensed a bit, like a taut guitar string, and Harry realized the implications of what he had said.

"I…" he opened his mouth, not sure what he was supposed to say, or even what he could say, but as it turned out, it didn't matter. Because suddenly the two of them were kissing like there was no tomorrow. He hadn't taken the time to appreciate it back at the Rachel Berry House Party Trainwreck Extravaganza, but Puck's lips really were soft and warm and he didn't think he'd ever felt anything better, tasting those lips, tongues coiling together and breathing heavy, his fingers gripping the front of Puck's shirt and Puck's hands pressing at the small of his back. Eventually they broke apart, just the tips of their noses touching, and moment was just about perfect.

It was an evening in New York. He was kissing Puck in the middle of a subway car, and nobody looked twice, like it was perfectly normally for two boys to do this sort of thing. The city had never seemed so beautiful.

* * *

><p>The next chapter <em>will <em>earn the M rating. You've had fair warning.


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Oh my GOD. This was so nerve wracking; it took much longer than usual to get through. I've never written sex before, so hopefully it ain't too painful to read. There really are certain experiences that are just kind of difficult to translate into words. I'd just like to put yet another thank you out there for the continued support, and the obligatory disclaimer that I do not go by the initials of RIB or JKR so if you think I have the right to anything here, you're nuts.

* * *

><p>They behaved themselves rather well, getting back to the hotel that evening. Just remaining side by side on the subway car, fingertips brushing. It was enough in that moment to stand like nothing had happened but privately know that everything had changed. But they snuck a kiss or two disembarking the subway, another one navigating the grates, and yet another one in the shadow of an adjacent building on the way back to the hotel, attracting not even a side glance from the people milling about the sidewalk. There was yet another kiss in the elevator on the way up to their rooms, fortune seemingly kind enough to keep anyone from the calling the elevator, and by the time they were at the door to their room it took a great deal of effort to break apart long enough to fish around for the card key.<p>

They had barely made it over the threshold before the door was slammed behind them again, and they were attached at the lips and room key was tossed aside carelessly.

"You know, I changed my mind," gasped Puck, from his position pinned up against the wall by Harry.

Harry pulled back, his hair wild and his lips swollen but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "About what?"

"About Santana. I appreciate her evil ways," Puck said, and he flipped them around so that it was Harry pinned up against the wall, and he had good access to his neck so that he could pepper kisses down his throat and to his collarbone. By chance, he found Harry's pulse point and sucked on it, and damn if he didn't make the most interesting noises as he wrapped both legs around Puck's waist.

Somehow, during the transition from the wall to the bed, Puck's vest had ended up on the lamp and Harry's fingers were already working at his tie, pulling it impatiently up over his head between kisses. As for him, his hands were at the curve of Harry's ass. It really did feel as good as it looked. Their breathing was getting heavy now, and hands were roaming everywhere; he could feel Harry's fingers dance across his shoulders, down his back, back up to trace his jaw line; dipping down again and sliding up under his shirt to meet the jut of his hipbones and come almost dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. It was a very good thing that none of the other club members were currently present in the room next door, because the sounds coming out of Harry's mouth as Puck's fingers squeezed at that ass that had haunted him for far too long was positively illegal.

He decided then that there were entirely too many layers between the two of them.

"Too many clothes," he said, and he could feel Harry lips curve up into a smile against his mouth in amusement, but he had Puck's dress shirt off in record time anyway.

He made quick work of Harry's vest and tie, but slowed down a bit when he worked his way down the dress shirt buttons, still kissing, tongues clashing and the heat in the room seeming to close in around them. He pulled back and admired as the shirt slid off Harry's shoulders at last.

Harry smirked at him. His eyes were dark, and Puck swore there were shades of green in there that he hadn't even seen before. He shrugged, not the faintest hint of self consciousness there anymore. "Admiring the view?"

"Fuck," said Puck. He'd lost most of his ability to articulate. "Yes."

This time Harry was underneath him and they were kissing again, gasping at the sensation of bare skin sliding together. If Puck had had any lingering doubts about his sexuality, they were long gone along with most of his clothes. He didn't miss the tits at all, or the soft curves, not when there were hard muscles and toned shoulders and hips and that _ass_ to explore.

He rolled his hips forward, almost experimentally, and almost lost it at the heat that pounded through his veins when Harry's hips surged up to meet his. The rhythm between them turned furious; languorous kissing and exploration had given way to the spark of fingertips digging into his back as they ground together. Every nerve ending was on fire, he couldn't remember anything feeling this _intense_ before, and yet there he was, a hot mouth latched onto the skin of his shoulder and presses kisses and licks everywhere.

Having enough of the foreplay, Puck went for the fly on Harry's pants. Understanding immediately, Harry got the button undone and Puck was finally sliding those pants off. He slowly pressed kisses up the inside of his toned thigh, finally licking a long stripe all the way up, relishing in the moans, in the "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck" that escaped Harry's lips.

Before long his own pants were gone too, as were his boxers, and there was nothing between them. Harry was completely naked now, bare limbs spread out beneath him, and he honestly didn't think he'd seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"Are you ready for this?" Puck asked, taking the moment to look straight into his eyes before reaching for the lube on the bedside table. He'd write a thank you note to Santana later, perhaps, when she wasn't gloating anymore.

"Fuck," said Harry. "I've been ready just about forever."

"Me too," he said.

He worked the lube over his fingers, warming it up, determined to make this perfect, determined not to hurt him, determined not to ruin anything this time. He slid the first finger in slowly, carefully, listening as the breath escaped Harry's lips in a hiss and his eyelids fluttered closed. He waited, giving Harry time to adjust, but it wasn't long before Harry was arching back against his palm.

"More," he said, and Puck crooked his finger obligingly, searching for the right angle. He seemed to have hit just the spot, as Harry finally gave up, threw his head back and moaned and God if the sound didn't go straight to his cock. Puck was patient, though, and he gradually increased to two fingers, then three, drinking in the noises and the heat.

"God, enough already," gasped Harry, after a particularly hard thrust, as his back arched up off the bed. "Just fuck me already."

"Are you ready?" he asked, fingers still working.

"Yes, so shut up and fuck me, would you?"

Puck usually wasn't one for taking orders in the bedroom, but he did so anyway, ripping open the condom packet with his teeth and rolled it on with the ease of experience. He was reminded once again that he had plenty to thank Santana for later, he thought. He paused between Harry's legs before lining himself up, taking a second to commit the moment to memory, before pushing in with painstaking slowness. The warmth and the tightness were almost unbearable, and it took all of his self control to remain still, the muscles in his thighs trembling with the effort. Harry let a long, drawn out, guttural moan, fingernails digging almost painfully into Puck's back.

He pulled out again at the same agonizing pace before lowering himself again, not able to restrain a moan of his own.

"Oh, fuck, _faster_," Harry said from between gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?" asked Puck, even though it was so tight it was almost killing him and he was half amazed that he hadn't given into his urge to pound away already.

"Just do it," hissed Harry, rocking his hips forward and eliciting another moan.

He thrusted again, searching for that right angle again, upping the tempo. It took several tries, but he found it, and soon he really was pounding away, enjoying the sight of Harry writhing beneath him.

He could feel the heat coiling down his spine and realized that he was dangerously close to the edge now, but he didn't plan on going over it alone. "Touch yourself," he whispered in Harry's ear, and it took only a few rough strokes before Harry was crying out his name, come spattering his chest. Puck followed not long after as Harry clenched around him, cursing like a sailor the entire way as his world went fuzzy around the edges and everything disappeared with the pleasure.

Puck pulled out carefully, limbs trembling, tied off the condom, and tossed it in the bin. He didn't envy the maids tomorrow morning, he thought, having to clean this place up, but at that moment it didn't matter.

He and Harry didn't speak for a while, nor did they move. They simply stayed pressed together with their legs and arms tangled, breathing evening out and heart rates slowing as they came off their highs.

At length, Puck rolled slightly and wrapped his arms around Harry, dropping a kiss to his neck. "You okay?"

"What kind of a question is that?" demanded Harry. "I'm way more than okay, and you should know it."

Puck laughed. "Sorry, sorry," he said, and then flinched a bit as Harry winced. "Are you sure you're okay? Are you sore?"

"A little," Harry admitted, tilting his head so that he was looking Puck in the eye. "It's not so bad though. And totally worth it."

Puck hummed his acknowledgement. They stayed quiet for a while, Puck idly rearranging Harry's hair and Harry tracing patterns across his bare chest with his index finger. With anyone else, Puck would have declared post coital cuddling a totally pussy move. But as things were right now, it felt natural.

They heard voices in the hall disturbing the quiet, feet thundering up and down the floor, and the slams of doors as the rest of the New Directions returned from their night out.

"How much do you want to bet that Santana's got her ear pressed up against the wall right now?" asked Harry.

Puck shook with silent laughter as he listened to the sound of Rachel screaming at Brittany through the wall over her missing facial mask.

He drifted off to sleep more content than he had ever felt in his life.

* * *

><p>All too soon, the alarm roused them both from sleep.<p>

"Damn early morning flight," muttered Harry, pushing himself out of Puck's arms and slamming a fist down on the alarm clock before dropping a kiss to Puck's temple and heading off to the shower.

Puck was a tad disappointed himself. The part of him that still thought like a twelve year old girl had wanted to wake up late in the morning with the sun filtering through the curtains, and Harry still asleep beside him. Life didn't always work like a movie, though.

He moved like a sleepwalker, throwing things pell-mell into his suitcase and attempting to rearrange the bed sheets. He gave up, realizing that the place was a mess and there was no disguising what had gone down there.

Harry emerged from the shower considerably more chipper, eyes glittering with that old mischievous spark as he toweled his unruly hair dry. "Just what will the poor maids think?" he asked.

"Who gives a damn about what they think?" Puck said, stamping a kiss square on Harry's lips before heading off to the shower himself.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later and the club had all congregated in the lobby, most of them nursing coffees from the free continental breakfast.<p>

"Somebody put a muzzle on the hobbit queen," said Santana, emptying packet after packet of sugar in her steaming coffee. "My ears can't handle that whistle frequency this early in the morning."

Finn's eyes widened and he stuffed one of the vegan mini-muffins in Rachel's mouth whole, being far too well acquainted with Santana in one of her early morning grumpy fits.

"That's better," said Santana appreciatively, as Brittany rubbed circles into her back. "Now, Scarface, get me one of those muffins. But none of that vegan shit. Auntie Snix needs her chocolate fix."

Harry rolled his eyes expressively at Puck, but trotted off for the muffin basket anyway, Brittany not far behind. Puck watched his retreating back with a bit of pride. He noticed the tiniest hitch in Harry's step as they went. He thought that nobody else had noticed, but then Santana's lips parted ever so slightly in a moment of epiphany.

"Don't tell me," she said almost dropping the little tube of concealer she was dabbing underneath her puffy eyes. "Did you tap that?"

Puck raised his eyebrows. "I won't tell you."

"You totally tapped that. Fuck, Puckerman. I had you pegged for a screaming bottom and everything," she said in a heated whisper.

"What-"

"Shut up. Don't argue with me. Just make sure to try it out yourself next time."

"_Next time?_ I didn't even tell you that there was a first time," he said, struggling to keep his voice low.

"I'm like a sex bloodhound, said Santana. "I can sniff bedroom activities on anyone from any distance. If you value your life, don't challenge my wisdom."

"Wisdom concerning what?" asked Harry, arriving with a napkin of chocolate mini-muffins as Santana finished her sentence.

Santana opened her mouth, no doubt to brag about her bedroom exploits and intimate knowledge concerning gay sex, but then Sam stumbled in their direction, rubbing his eyes sleepily and reaching for a muffin, and she seemed to think better of it. "Nothing, dear," she said, patting Harry on the cheek. "I'm just glad that you appreciated my birthday present."

"Birthday present?" said Brittany, looking alarmed. "Oh no. I missed his birthday? Is it still too late to ask Macy's to wrap up that platypus that I had ordered in advance?"

"A platypus?" asked Puck, in spite of himself.

"It's a tribute to how he can fight Australian animals," Brittany explained. "I thought about a crocodile just like he told us about, but then I remembered that a crocodile wouldn't fit in his sock drawer."

It was a testament to the bond between the Glee Club members that nobody blinked twice or contradicted Brittany.

* * *

><p>The Glee Club members had trickled off one by one, most of them picked up by their parents. It was just Harry and Puck waiting by the baggage carousel, having missed Puck's luggage on the first few go-arounds.<p>

Harry finally snagged the slightly battered black suitcase, and they departed for the airport parking lot together, where Harry had left his black Toyota. Without even really thinking about it, their fingers wound together.

Puck looked down at their clasped hands, swinging like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the gears in his brain suddenly ground to a halt.

"What's up?" asked Harry, as Puck stop dead in the middle of the parking lot.

"So. Uh. All of this," said Puck awkwardly. He unconsciously brought up his other hand to rub the back of his mohawk. "Does that mean this is kind of…like, a relationship now? Or am I reading too much into this?" he added hurriedly, as Harry's face remained totally blank.

All at once, Harry's face split into a wide grin, like the sun coming up. The pressure in Puck's chest was relieved. "Are you asking me out?" Harry asked, prodding Puck in the side playfully.

"Um…sort of? Yeah? Definitely?" he said, as Harry's grin grew more and more devilish.

"Sort of?" Harry asked, dragging the syllables out. "Kind of?"

"Okay. Yes, I'm asking you out," said Puck. He dropped the handle of his baggage and clasped his hands to his chest in a perfect imitation of Rachel in one of her Shakespeare moods. "Will you go out with me?" he asked, making his eyes as wide as they would go. He relaxed his face and dropped the pose. "There. Happy now?"

"Yes," said Harry, and he pressed their lips together.

"Yes, as in you're happy?" asked Puck as they broke apart. "Or yes as in yes you'll go out with me?"

"Yes," repeated Harry, and they were kissing again, in broad daylight, and Puck didn't even care.

He heard somebody's throat clear angrily and he looked over Harry's shoulder to see a woman frowning disapprovingly, a little boy clinging to her side. She slapped her hand over her little boy's eyes and glared pointedly again at the two of them. Puck flipped her off behind Harry's back, and deepened the kiss.

* * *

><p>By unspoken consent, Harry accompanied Puck back to the Puckerman household. By this point, Harry had been spending more time there than at his own lonely apartment anyway. Come to think of it, Puck thought, they'd effectively been going out for a long time anyway. They had spent all their time attached at the hip and sang together in Glee Club and went out to dinner and passed out on the floor together after a long night of Sci-Fi movie marathons. They just hadn't called it as such at the time.<p>

His Ma was waiting at the kitchen table for them when they pushed open the door. It wasn't a surprise to her to see Harry either. She greeted him with a nod.

"Twelfth place," Puck said, before she could ask. Truth be told, he was still slightly ashamed of it.

"That's great," she said, and she threw her arms around his neck anyway. "I'm proud," she whispered into his ear.

It was almost an alien feeling. His Ma? Proud of him, at last? He'd conditioned himself for another sigh, another droop of the head, but at long last it seemed he'd done something right by her.

He could see Harry hanging back a bit with Sarah attached to his hip, smiling at the both of them, and it occurred to him how far he'd come in a year. Last year, what had he had? A pregnant girl who wasn't even his girlfriend, horrific grades, and a spot on a no-good football team. And look at him now. A boyfriend, a more than decent report card, and the New Directions. Maybe the boyfriend was a teenage Wizarding war veteran, and maybe he still didn't quite know what he was going to do with his life yet, and maybe the New Directions was dysfunctional as hell and had only managed to come in twelfth place, but fuck it all, he was finally happy.

He knew it was sappy as shit, but looking back on all of that, he was proud of himself.

* * *

><p>It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, like any other before all the Ministry of Magic shit and the Nationals trip and New York City. Harry was dozing off on Puck's bed, listening to the music pulsing through the speakers, and Puck was going through his email.<p>

He was just about to snap the laptop shut and go join Harry on the bed when the browser pinged with a new email. _From: Shelby Corcoran_, the heading said, and he paused. He read through the email several times, his innards constricting again with a potent mix of hope and trepidation and nerves.

"Harry?" he asked casually.

Harry raised his head a fraction of an inch off the bedspread. "Yeah?"

"You know Beth, right?"

Harry sat up straight. "Your daughter?"

"You know how I told you she's with Rachel's mom and everything, right?"

"You did," getting to his feet and padding over to where Puck sat with the laptop. "Why?"

"She emailed me, told me I should stop by for a visit at the end of the school year."

Harry's lips curled into a small, understanding smile. "For her first birthday, I guess?" Puck had already picked out a present, wrapped it with Sarah's help, and sent it just under two months ago. Quinn had been grim that day, just a tiny dot of blue ink marking the date in her school planner, and Puck had been unusually subdued, but Ms. Corcoran had sent a photograph of a happy child with cornflower blue eyes and a cupcake with a single candle, and that had been enough to make him smile.

"It's a little late, but I guess so," said Puck. He cleared his throat. "Anyway…I was kind of thinking. You know, if you wanted to, you could come with me."

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, and the phrase was an echo of the other night, but this time his voice was quiet.

"Absolutely," said Puck. "I care about you, and you listened to me when I talked about her, so I think you've more than earned the right to meet my daughter."

Harry said nothing, only wrapped his arms around Puck's shoulder and dropped his chin on the top of his head.

"Besides," added Puck. "I know that being a good parent is important to you."

"It is," said Harry.

They could have fucked the night away that Sunday. Any other evening, Puck might have, but this time they didn't. Instead they fell asleep together, arms and legs tangled together like puzzle pieces.

* * *

><p>Hope ya'll enjoyed it. I guess that's all there really is to say.<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

AN: OH MY GOD. I AM SO SORRY. I haven't updated in almost two whole months and it feels _terrible._ In my own defense, though, in the metaphorical sense life has pretty much kicked me in the seat of the pants then dropped me off the sixteenth floor these past few weeks. Hopefully you all accept the peace offering of a new chapter and my sincerest apologies for the extended delay. I'm projecting another chapter or so and then an epilogue, so hang tight!

Also, I ain't RIB or JKR. Would that I was.

* * *

><p>Harry might have expected that being in an actual relationship would somehow make him feel different. Safer, maybe, or elated or just plain different.<p>

As it turned out, though, life wasn't much changed. They hung out and entertained Sarah and fucked around with songs for Glee projects, same as ever. Sometimes Mrs. Puckerman made dinner for them, sometimes they stayed at Harry's place and honored the tradition of bad Sci-Fi movie nights. The only different was that there was a lot more sex. If he was feeling particularly emotionally disturbed, he had someone to talk to without reserve, and vice versa; he suspected he knew Puck better than Puck knew himself. The result was that both were more themselves than they'd ever been before.

In fact, when they marched into McKinley High together the following Monday, shoulder to shoulder, nobody even looked twice. There wasn't even a perfunctory murmur.

"Is it fucked up that I'm half disappointed that we haven't created a huge scandal by walking in the door together? I was hoping for at least half a dozen blog postings." said Puck.

Harry shook his head. "Nope. I was sort of looking forward to the headlines on Jacob Ben-Israel's blog."

"_Local Teenage Baby-daddy Elopes with Token British Nancy?_"

"Change "nancy" to "badass" and we might be in business."

They parted ways for first period without another word, but with broad grins and pinkies brushing. Santana threw a salacious wink at them from up ahead where her own pinky was coiled with Brittany's, and Puck didn't stick his tongue out or flip them off as usual. Instead, he smiled.

* * *

><p>Lunch time and the Glee Club was again grouped around the same table. In a sense, nothing had really changed. Every once in a while a spitball would hit the back of Kurt or Rachel's head from the hockey table one over. The curly fries were still soggy, the same fossilized wad of gum was stuck to the underside of Harry's seat, and Figgins would still swoop by once in a while to drone into the microphone about parking lot safety and PTA fundraisers.<p>

But they were all different people.

It was incredibly, really, what three or four days out of Lima had done for all of the kids. There was a new spring in Rachel's step. Tina had worn colors other than black three days in a row. Kurt had perched his bright red fedora at a jaunty angle and hadn't even commented on Brittany's fuzzy kitty book bag, only flicked one of the pom poms hanging off the end of the bag and told Brittany how nice her makeup looked today.

And then it struck Harry, like a brick to the face. They made each other happy.

They slept with each other and they yelled at each other and sometimes they cheated on each other but they always came out as friends.

The happy club, indeed.

He bought Artie lunch that day, in honor of his first meal there, and they all raised their water bottles or their milk cartons as a sort of toast.

* * *

><p>Harry was sleeping through English when an announcement came blaring through the speaker.<p>

"Midget Scarface, report to the office of Sue Sylvester within thirty seconds or face the consequences, consequences which may or may not include ritual disembowelment, teeth cleaning, and a _Beverly Hills 90210 _marathon."

There was a crackle and then a loud thump, rather as if someone had dropped the speakerphone from a great height. The entire class swiveled around in their seats to stare at Harry, who still had his face pressed onto the desk. He groaned. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night.

"You'd better go fast," lisped a rather mousy girl to his right with one of those enormous wire brace contraptions that wrapped around her entire head. "She wasn't lying about the teeth cleaning."

Harry pressed a forefinger to his lips and tried to enjoy what might be his last moments with teeth before heaving his bag over his shoulder and slipping out the room. He imagined he saw sympathy in the eyes that followed him out.

Harry rapped his knuckles on Sue Sylvester's door with a certain amount of trepidation. But as it turned out, he needn't worry. The coach was in a good mood.

"Come in. And for God's sakes, don't trample all over the rug. It was a personal gift from his royal majesty, Disney prince Cooper Anderson."

"Anderson Cooper?" asked Harry. Kurt and Mercedes made a point of always watching CNN at nine.

"Did I sound like my tongue slipped?" Sue snapped. "Do I look like I slobber over melanin-deficient commie liberal newscasters? No. Now take a seat."

Harry sat.

Sue steepled her fingers. Harry briefly considered asking her why he was there, but her eyebrows suddenly snapped together and he clammed up.

To his great surprise, her eyebrows relaxed and she slipped her glasses of the end of her nose.

"I gotta say, Wondergay, you never cease to amaze me. First your pasty, scrawny ass managed to save all of Britain at age one. Then, your pimply, pasty, scrawny ass saved the entire world at age twelve."

"Sixteen."

Sue ignored him. "And then you decide to waltz into Lima, Ohio. You had your pick. You could have allied with any of the prokaryotes in red jackets. Or you could have done something socially acceptable and of use to the community. Instead you team up with Mr. Ogilvie and his harem of pudgy misfits and begin an illicit affair with a walking Planned Parenthood advertisement."

Harry had never spoken to someone more shameless, and he had done interviews with Rita Skeeter.

"In sum, you have proven yourself to be another hopelessly sentimental, self-sacrificing idiot." _Self-sacrificing_ rolled off her tongue as though it were _scum_.

"That's a bad thing?"

Sue was too far into her monologue to bother telling him off. "And then, what do you know, I get a call from an old Nazi-hunting buddy from the sixties. Agent X."

"The grey man?" blurted Harry.

"Grey? Pity. He had a rather nice head of ginger back in the day. Your codependent sidekick would have been jealous."

"How do you know-"

"I stole your file from headquarters as a bit of bedtime reading and ended up playing pin the tail on the donkey with your mug shot. I should give you detention for forcing me to read the depressing story of your miserable life."

Harry opened his mouth to argue.

"Lucky for you, Sue Sylvester is feeling magnanimous and forgiving today. Instead of punishing you for boring me to tears, I'm here to call you out on being a moody, selfish bitch."

"What?"

"You heard me. You ran away from Britain with your tail tucked between your legs, like William Schuester running away from a straightening iron, or Porcelain running away from clothes designed for males."

"Sorry, but I'm not exactly seeing how this makes me a selfish bitch," said Harry.

"It makes you a selfish bitch because the Special Forces could use your help, and yet here you are, squatting here in a cow town to hide from photographers when anyone with sense would strike their best Paris Hilton and then go collect royalties from the exclusive biography."

Harry felt a bit of anger lick at his insides, despite himself. "That's interesting," he said, in a controlled tone, "coming from the single most self centered woman in this town. You'd torch the place if you thought it could get you any farther in life."

Sue didn't even blink. "That's a logical fallacy, kid. Just because I'm a hypocrite, it doesn't make you any less of whiner."

Harry threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay. I'm a coward. I'm self-centered. What does this have to do with you?"

"Absolutely nothing," said Sue cheerfully. "I'm just here to guilt trip you into taking a job with the Auror agency so that on top of a primetime slot on ESPN and a feature in _American Cheerleader_ magazine, I get a solid gold plaque anointed with the tears of virgins and a hefty commission for blackmailing you into the agency."

"You know, you didn't have to call me in to insult me," said Harry. "After graduation I was going to sign on with the agency so that I could stay in the states."

"Really?" A crease formed between Sue's eyebrows. "Well then. That simplifies matters. I'll just have to send a Floo call to Agent X and tell him all about how my extraordinarily well-reasoned, impassioned job pitch won you over. If you dare contradict this story I shall hack your iPod and put it on a Celine Dion loop, then move Cheerios practice to the roof of your apartment where they shall dance every day and night to the tune of an REO Speedwagon b-side and you'll never sleep again. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good. Now off with you, or it'll be off with you head."

Harry departed at top speed.

* * *

><p>"Was I selfish?" he asked Puck as they entered the choir room that afternoon.<p>

Puck frowned. "When and where?"

"Running away from Britain and all. Was that selfish of me?" Harry cast a sideways glance around the room. Everyone else had already been sucked into a heated argument concerning Star Wars vs. Star Trek, with Sam enthusiastically marshalling the debate. "They might've needed me for Reconstruction. Not to have a big ego or anything, but I'm a pretty damn good fighter, and I might have snared a few rogue Death Eaters. But I was afraid of the press so I ran away."

"And?" Puck raised an eyebrow in that way of his that meant that he thought Harry was being ridiculous but he was going to humor him anyway.

"Isn't that a little self-centered? Dumping a country in need for some alone time?"

"What's gotten into you?" asked Puck. "I thought you hated the country at large."

"I don't hate them. You think I'd have died for them if I did? But now I'm wondering if it wasn't sheer self pity."

Puck observed him for another moment. Then: "Coach Sylvester was trying to guilt trip you, wasn't she?"

"How'd you know?"

"She's the only person around that'd be shameless enough to try to give a war veteran a talking-to."

Harry shrugged. "Yeah? So? What if she had a point?"

"Maybe she did, maybe she didn't," Puck said. "The important part isn't that you ran away. The important part is that you've been good to people around here. And you've got a plan."

"You make everything sound so simple."

"Maybe that's because it is."

"God, you're too good sometimes," said Harry.

"Try not to forget it on the days that I'm not, yeah?" said Puck. He sat down on one of the blue plastic chairs, then without warning, reached out and coiled both arms around Harry's waist, pulling him onto his lap. Surprised but gratified, Harry draped his arms over Puck's shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

The room went silent around them.

"Seriously, guys," said Santana, not even looking up as she hollowed out her cheeks with bronzer and pursed her lips, checking her reflection in the window. "You didn't notice this before?"

"It was more obvious than Finn and Rachel," said Kurt. "And it really doesn't get any more obvious than that."

Finn's jaw had gone all slack. "But…they roomed together…"

"Now you know exactly what the maid was yelling at them when they left, then, don't you, Dough Boy?" snapped Santana.

Schuester's eyes were screwed shut. "I don't want to know. And just for future reference, the two of you will _not _be rooming together again next competition."

"Spoil my fun, why don't you?" said Santana.

Mike quirked a crooked smile. "Guess I gotta wire fifty bucks over to Cho now. We had a bet going."

Artie offered a fist bump to both Harry and Puck. Rachel immediately proposed a song. Quinn and Mercedes smiled beatifically from the corner while Sam failed to wipe the pop-eyed shock from his face. None of them noticed the two newcomers to the room, leaning against the doorjamb and looking over the scene with immense amusement. Until:

"You'd think you'd be able to give your best mate a ring and let him know, wouldn't you?"

Harry's head shot up. "Ron? Hermione?"

And before he knew it he'd barreled headfirst into the waiting arms of his two best friends in the world.

"Merlin, you two. You couldn't warn a guy? I've been dying to see you two; I was about ready to buy the tickets myself."

"Consider this your birthday present, then," said Ron.

Hermione pinched him.

"Ow!" Ron rubbed his arm and glared at her accusingly. "What?"

"What Ronald has failed to inform you is that we were worried sick," said Hermione, locking her arms around Harry's neck in a stranglehold.

"About what?" Harry choked.

Hermione detangled her arms, only to grab him by the shoulders and hold him back to look her in the eye. "Are you serious, Harry? We're not stupid. First, your calls got fewer and farther between."

"I was busy," he said, looking down to study her shoes.

"I have a post at the intelligence bureau at the Ministry," Hermione reminded him. "That's how I fed you the information on the escaped convicts before the press got to it. So of course it ended up on my desk about two weeks ago when you apparently took care of Greyback and a squad of marauding Death Eaters and blew up your own apartment."

"Oh."

"What's past is past, mate," said Ron, slapping him on the shoulder. "But in the future, try not to forget that we're actually fairly sharp."

"Speak for yourself," said Hermione.

Ron narrowed his eyes, until she burst into a fit of giggles. Harry was nonplussed. In the past, Ron might've thrown a tantrum or dropped snide hints about Lavender Brown the rest of the evening. But then he noticed the gold band glittering on Hermione's fingers.

"Looks like you've been keeping a few secrets of your own," he said, trying and failing to maintain a poker face.

Hermione looked down, as if surprised by her own ring. "Oh, we were waiting to surprise you with the news and everything! Looks like we've gone and ruined it by accident anyway."

"Who are they?" blurted Finn, spoiling the moment. All three whirled around to look at the Glee club, the members of which were looking on in deep confusion.

"Oh," said Harry, red-faced and flustered. "Everybody, this is Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione, this is the New Directions."

"Kinky."

Hermione elbowed Ron in the ribs. Puck shuffled up to the two of them, one hand rubbing the back of his mohawk and the other shoved into his pocket. "I guess I should introduce myself?"

Hermione nodded encouragingly.

"I'm Puck."

"What kind of name is that?" Hermione elbowed Ron again.

"Pleased to meet you," said Hermione, offering a hand. Puck stared at it, a little bemused, before shaking her hand gingerly.

Harry repressed a smile of his own. Somehow, it felt like all the pieces were falling into place.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, they all sat at the corner booth at the Breadstix, an impromptu double date. The elderly waitress seemed to have developed a certain fondness for Ron, who had already downed five full servings of breadsticks by himself.<p>

"If she charges extra, it's on you," Harry told him. "I'm putting savings together for a decent apartment in New York once I graduate. Merlin knows that shit doesn't come cheap, even if you've got money."

"Oh, so you are graduating, then?" said Hermione. "That's good. You should finish some kind of formal education, even if it is from a subpar American public school." There was a slight sniff to her voice, and he smiled. She'd gone on for a full fifteen minutes on how woefully under stocked the McKinley High library was.

"Yeah. I'm not doing the college thing, though."

"Really?" Hermione looked slightly deflated. "I've heard some of the universities have excellent research libraries, and can you imagine how much fun it would be to take those student discounts and go exploring at the Metropolitan or something?"

"About as fun as toenail clipping," muttered Ron, and Puck nodded his agreement.

"Then what is it exactly that you plan to do in New York?"

"I was thinking about joining the American Auror department, actually," said Harry, peering over his drink at her.

To his surprise, she clapped her hands together. "That's fantastic!"

"You really think so?"

"Of course! It's exactly the kind of job you were cut out to do, and ties with the American ministry mean that not only will you be able to stay in close contact with me and Ron, you'll be able to work with us."

"So you don't think I'm selling out?" asked Harry, directing his question at Ron.

"I s'pose not, as long as the agency keeps its conscience, if you catch my drift."

Hermione beamed at Ron. "We've been doing legal studies together; he's caught on so much. Oh, and how about you, Noah?"

Puck started. "Me?"

"Yes, I presume you'll be in New York yourself?"

Puck cast a sideways glance at Harry before winding their fingers together. "Yeah, I think I will be."

They held hands under the table for the rest of the night, and when they got home, Hermione plied Puck with pamphlets for several New York schools and offered to personally edit his essays. Harry was suddenly thankful for all those late night study sessions, and Puck's steadily climbing grades.

* * *

><p>One hot, sticky weekday night, Puck and Harry lay tangled together in the sheets, Puck tracing patterns on Harry's bare back and Harry watching the dappled shadows play across the planes of his face.<p>

"I got a call back. From Ms. Corcoran."

"About Beth?"

"About Beth," Puck confirmed, shifting so that his head rested on Harry's chest. "Saturday. She wants to have lunch at her place."

Harry felt a swoop of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. "So you finally get to see her?"

"Yep. I haven't seen her since she was born."

He shifted, wrapping his arms more securely around Puck. "Tell me about her."

"Blonde hair. Blue eyes. She's more Quinn Fabray than me, really, and that's not a bad thing. I'm a hot stud of a man but I wasn't a very cute baby."

"Your mother begs to differ."

"She was always a little deluded when it came to me and Sarah." They lay in silence for a while, until Puck said in almost a whisper. "You'll love her. She'll love you."

Harry really hoped so.

* * *

><p>"It's the last meeting of the year, guys," said Schuester, clapping his hands together. "And what a year it's been!" They all exchanged significant glances. "So let's make this a good one. Any last songs anyone has, anyone goodbyes before the summer?"<p>

Rachel raised her hand.

"Yes?"

"If we may, Mr. Schuester," interjected Kurt. "We've already prepared a bit of a number, for you and our guests." He inclined his head at Ron and Hermione, who waved from the extra folding chairs drawn up next to the piano.

Schuester raised his eyebrows. "Oh, well, fantastic then! Organized by you and Rachel, I presume?"

"Actually," said Rachel, as the club stood up and moved to the front of the room as one, "it was Harry who suggested the song." Puck squeezed his hand and gave him toothy smile, full of pride, as Harry pulled him to his feet to join the rest of them.

Schuester looked doubly surprised, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. "I wasn't under the impression that you had songs that you wanted done, Harry."

"I didn't have any," he shrugged. "Until now."

When Brad began to tap out the familiar chords and all their voices blended as one, Hermione's lips parted into a perfect 'o' of recognition. For once, no one took the solo.

"_Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure the life of a woman or a man?_"

Schuester hadn't been wrong after all, Harry thought.

"_Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends._"

There'd never been a year quite like this one.

* * *

><p>AN: The song credit goes to RENT. If you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and go see it now. It made even this jaded bitch warm on the inside. Do excuse the overall sappiness of this chapter. I just finished the finale episode and half my friends are about to graduate.<p> 


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Aaaaaaaaaaand there it is, folks. The penultimate chapter! I should have an epilogue up pretty fast to go with this, but other than that, this is pretty much the end of the road. It felt like the natural place to stop. I should thank you all immensely for your patience with my spotty updating habits as of late. Hopefully it paid off in the end. I would also like to thank **Kalaert** for the lovely fan art, which you can check out on her profile page! And as always, thank you for the invaluable feedback and all the favorites and alerts. It feels like it's too good for a first attempt at writing fanfic.

I'm not RIB, I'm not JKR, I'm not Fox, I'm not Scholastic or Bloomsbury or Warner Bros. I have no rights to anything here.

* * *

><p>Saturday dawned, obscenely hot and humid.<p>

Neither Harry nor Puck was particularly fussy about their appearance. Puck stuck to a uniform of "whatever looks exactly the same as what I already own" and Harry only ever looked fashionable if it was Kurt, Tina, and Mercedes throwing clothes at him. But today, both were uncommonly twitchy. They'd made an effort to get up at nine in the morning to put things in order, but twelve o'clock was drawing ever closer and they were still unprepared.

Harry stood in front of the mirror, attempting in vain to smooth his hair down. It was effort wasted. Meanwhile, Puck was still in the shower doing nothing at all, only counting the ceramic tiles and making the steam fill the bathroom.

"Puck? Are you trying to drown yourself in there?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. Fuck off!"

Puck could almost hear Harry rolling his eyes, but he couldn't help it. Whenever Puck was trying to avoid an issue, he got even more belligerent than usual and started swearing like a sailor. "Yeah, whatever. Don't try to peel your skin off from the steam. And don't go having an extended wank in there either; we have to leave in like twenty minutes, Ms. Corcoran lives on the other side of town."

"Then why don't you come in here and help me take care of it, babe?" That was the other thing about Puck. When under stress, he was ten times hornier.

"Your little sister is next door. I don't think I want to get into that."

There was a pause, during which the only sound was the fall of water. "Fuck. Why are you always right?"

"Because if you were right all the time, you'd get to be sexy and correct, which really isn't fair." He heard a crash as Harry threw his hairbrush back to the sink, giving his hair up as a lost cause.

"I love you," said Puck, poking his head around the shower curtain. "You know that? And the same goes for you."

"One would hope," said Harry, smiling faintly.

* * *

><p>"Lunch?" asked Ms. Puckerman. "I made sub sandwiches."<p>

"Don't worry about it, Ma," said Puck.

"But it's your favorite, beef teriyaki and everything. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Liar," said Sarah smugly, looking up from her own helping of a roast beef sandwich. "You're wearing a button down shirt and your jeans have no holes. Which means you're going out."

Mrs. Puckerman looked wary. "You two didn't tell me you were leaving. Do…you need money for lunch?"

Puck shook his head. Even if they did need money, he would turn it down. It was enough work as it was for his mother to keep the house afloat, she didn't need them going around wasting cash.

"No," said Puck. "We're going to…a friend's place."

"Oh, Finn's? Have fun then," said Ms. Puckerman, turning back to her own sandwich.

"He's lying again," said Sarah, tapping her fork on the table. "He wouldn't dress up to go to Finn's. Plus, he's looking at the cuffs of your jeans. He never looks people in the eye when he's lying."

"Shut up," Puck hissed. Harry smothered a laugh.

"You're not going clubbing, are you?" asked Ms. Puckerman, looking wary. "Because Carol Hudson did warn me, there's a cluster of bars on the outskirts of town. _Scandals_, I think one was called?"

"Ma. It's eleven forty-five in the morning. We are _not _going clubbing."

Ms. Puckerman put her hands on her hips. "So if it was eleven forty-five at night, you would be? Remind me to start actually enforcing the curfew."

"Ma! We don't do clubbing!"

Ms. Puckerman blew a strand of hair out of her face. "Then where exactly are you going, and why are you lying to me, Noah Puckerman?"

"We're going to Ms. Corcoran's, okay?"

Sarah immediately ceased banging her fork. Ms. Puckerman's eyebrows shot up. "Ms. Corcoran. She's the one who adopted-"

"Beth, yes."

"Noah," said Ms. Puckerman. Her voice had gone unusually soft, like it was wrapped in flannel. "You gave her up for adoption for a reason."

"I know I did. We're not barging in or planning a child kidnapping. Ms. Corcoran invited us for lunch, and we're just having a normal visit."

"All right, then." Ms. Puckerman chewed her lip. "So as long as you think you can handle it."

"I will. Believe it or not, I've kind of grown up." He smoothed the collar of his shirt down, just to prove his point.

"Really now?" asked Sarah, tapping her chin with the fork. "Because to me, you look like the same snotty five year old running around in his Captain America underpants that you always were."

"You weren't even alive when I was five years old!" Puck spluttered.

"Well, _duh._" Sarah rolled her eyes. "Ma showed me the home videos."

"You took videos?" asked Puck, wheeling around to face his mother.

"Of course I did. Harry, dear, would you like to see them sometime? We could make it a party."

"Absolutely not," said Puck. "And we'll be leaving now." He grabbed Harry by the elbow, dragging him out the door.

"I'll take a rain check on that party, if you please," Harry called back to Ms. Puckerman.

He had just a glimpse of her waggling her fingers at them before the door shut.

* * *

><p>"2857 Willowbark Street?" Harry read off of the post-it note.<p>

"The one and only," Puck sighed, double-checking the house number stuck to the side of the mailbox.

They let the car idle as they sat, staring. The house was completely innocuous; a one story red brick scrubbed until it practically sparkled, complete with ridiculously bright annuals lining the flower bed. And yet, they sat in the car as though it were the dentist's office, or Rachel Berry's place.

Puck took a deep breath. "This is it," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Time to nut up or shut up."

"A word of advice," said Harry, climbing out of the car and holding the door open for Puck, "try not to talk to Ms. Corcoran like you would to Santana or Finn. You don't want Beth picking up things."

"Come on, she's like a year old," said Puck, as they waited on the doorstep. "The only thing anyone knows how to do when they're a year old is eat mashed peas and then puke everywhere."

The front door opened, and Ms. Corcoran stood in the doorway. Puck was struck by the brief urge to call her 'Rachel'. Same nose, same cheekbones, even the same hair. The difference being that wouldn't entrust his baby girl to Rachel Berry for all the money in the world.

"Come on in, boys." Her eyes rested on Harry for a moment. Puck had mentioned that he'd be bringing someone along. She'd probably assumed that it would be Quinn, but she accepted Harry without comment. They followed her inside, to a small but airy breakfast room. "Sorry, the lunch isn't that spectacular," said Ms. Corcoran. "I'm a horrible cook, so I just got take-out."

But Puck had completely tuned her out. Instead, he had zeroed in on the little girl perched in the high chair drawn up to the kitchen table. "Hey, Beth," he said. He wondered if she was going to recognize him. He hardly recognized her, after all; this little girl with the big blue eyes and the yellow bow in her hair was a far cry from the red faced, shrieking baby still covered in Quinn's vagina gunk, after all.

She turned those enormous eyes on him and he almost shivered; she was so young but those eyes seemed like they knew things. "Hi, Beth," he repeated. "Do you remember me?"

Beth said nothing, only banged her spoon on the table.

"I guess I can see where the Puckerman side of her comes in," remarked Harry dryly.

Puck laughed. Beth laughed too, the full belly laugh of a small child, until she waved her arms too wildly and knocked over her cup of milk. "Uh-oh," she said cheerfully.

"Uh-oh is right," Puck agreed, picking up the towel that was on the table and mopping up her mess on reflex.

He looked up to see that Ms. Corcoran had started towards them, and then thought better of it. She was now hanging back awkwardly with Harry.

"I don't know if she remembers you," said Ms. Corcoran, "but she certainly likes you. If anyone else but me tries to touch her, she usually throws a tantrum."

"Yep, that definitely sounds like a kid who would be your daughter," said Harry.

Puck smirked a bit, until Beth got bored of making a finger-painting masterpiece with her food and instead latched her chubby little fingers into Puck's hair. He winced, but let her hang on. It was easier than letting go.

* * *

><p>Harry sat on the living room floor playing blocks with Beth and keeping her from crawling off to investigate the pantry or the bookcase while Puck and Ms. Corcoran had a conference of sorts at the breakfast room table. Beth's medical records from the past year were spread over the tabletop, and Puck perused them and pretended he understood half of what was printed there while Ms. Corcoran nursed a cup of tea.<p>

"So as you can see," she said, "Beth's been quite healthy, and she's up to date on immunizations and everything."

Puck winced, and folded up Beth's shot record. He hated the idea of giving babies shots; it felt like stomping on puppies, and they always looked at you like it was a deep betrayal of trust when you handed them off to the doctor. "That's good to know, Ms. Corcoran," he said.

"Please," she told him. "Call me Shelby. Ms. Corcoran was my mother."

"You're a mother too, now," he pointed out.

She looked down into her mug of chamomile tea. "True. But I think you've earned the right."

He bobbed his head noncommittally. He watched Harry and Beth for a while. Beth apparently had a slight hair fixation; she had given up on the alphabet blocks and was pulling on strands of Harry's wild black hair.

"So, who is he?" asked Ms. Corcoran, looking up at him. "Brother? Best friend?"

"Boyfriend," he said, with a goofy smile. It never got old, saying those words out loud.

"I'm happy for you," said Shelby, and she looked it too. "Brave move in a town like this. The Berrys have told me all about it." She twirled the paper tag on her teabag around her pinky finger.

Puck winced. He knew how their house was a favorite target of town pranksters; how Kurt Hummel wasn't the only one with rude graffiti on the garage door and his lawn furniture nailed to the roof.

"I thought Quinn would have come," Shelby said after a moment.

"Sometimes I think she just wants to forget," said Puck. "I love Beth, God knows I do, but I can't say I always blame Quinn. It almost ruined her life."

Shelby drummed her fingers on the ceramic mug. "Well look at you, all grown and mature and seeing things from other people's points of view. The last boy I saw was a teenage baby-daddy, scared of his own shadow."

Puck couldn't really argue with that.

Her voice was slightly quieter now. "So he's all okay with this, then?" She tilted her head to the side, towards the living room, where Harry was still entertaining Beth.

"He's been really, really great about it," said Puck, and that goofy smile that he couldn't help was taking over his face again.

Shelby raised her eyebrows, resting her chin on the palms of her hands. "Really? He gets that you want to be in your kid's life, even if it's the child of a different person, a girl that you both know?"

"Of course he does," said Puck. "I explained it, you know. That my dad was never there and that I didn't want to be _that guy_, the one who throws his kids away. I don't want her to just remember me by the occasional birthday present. And Harry doesn't have parents anymore either so he gets it. He was the one who pushed me to keep in touch with you. We both really want this to work."

Shelby sat back, looking impressed. "You kids are old for high school."

Puck looked over at that back of Harry's head. "I guess you could say we've had a lot on our plates."

Something in Shelby's eyes looked a little sad. She looked older, more tired, like a Rachel who'd experienced genuine suffering. "So what's it like?" he asked her. "Being a mother."

She chewed on her bottom lip, searching inward for the words. "It's beautiful, you know? But so hard. But the fact that it's hard makes it twice as beautiful."

Puck nodded. That much, he could understand.

"It's like, they come into the world and they're completely dependent on you. She's still her own little person, but she's not complete without me. But then the older she gets the farther she goes, and every minute that goes by she's getting ready to let go of my hand."

"She's only a year old," Puck pointed out. "You've got more than enough time left."

"I know," Shelby said. "But the other day, she took her first steps. She didn't even need to hold my hand. And then the next thing you know she'll be walking out that door to go to school. And maybe she'll have those preteen years where she hates me and can't be seen with me. And someday she'll find photographs of a little girl who looks like me and I'll have to explain to her why I didn't keep her sister."

Shelby's eyes looked a touch glassy. Puck knew the unasked question before it came to her lips. "Rachel is doing fine," he said. "Loud, bossy, and annoying. But still talented," he conceded. "She's got a boyfriend. A better man than Jesse St. James."

Shelby smiled. "I don't know what I'll do, the day that Beth brings a boyfriend home."

"Or a girlfriend," Puck reminded her.

"Or a girlfriend," Shelby repeated.

"I know what I'd do," said Puck.

"And what is that?" Shelby looked amused.

"Get a German Shepherd. And an NRA membership."

Shelby laughed softly. "Call me back when you get some better ideas, okay? I'm not so much into guns. Or dogs bigger than me."

Puck shrugged. "You could just let her go, when the time comes. You've got twelve or thirteen years to get used to that idea, don't waste them."

"Thirteen years sounds like a lot from where you stand," said Shelby. "But trust me. It isn't. Enjoy life now, because tomorrow you're going to wake up and you'll be forty."

"Assuming I live to be forty."

"That's not funny."

"But it's a fair point," said Harry from behind them. Beth was balanced on his hip, her grubby fingers fisted into his shirt. It was an oddly natural sight. "You never know when the hell you're going to die. So just enjoy life while you have it, and don't give yourself a premature coronary."

Harry passed off Beth to Puck, who bounced her up and down on his knee. She giggled and clapped, as if it was the most entertaining thing that had happened all day.

"Words of wisdom from a high-schooler," said Shelby. "Are you sure you're not out of a movie?"

"I think if this was a movie things would be a lot simpler. And we probably would have won Nationals." Harry smoothed down a lock of blonde hair that had escaped Beth's hair bow.

"In all fairness," said Shelby, standing up to put her mug in the sink, "Vocal Adrenaline lost too. And I trained those kids."

"They're all nutcases," said Puck. "Like, certified. Were they like that before or after you got to them?"

"That is classified information on the competition," said Shelby, drying her hands. "Which I will not be disclosing."

She walked them out to the driveway, and waited patiently as Puck cooed a lot of baby talk nonsense to Beth.

"I'll be in touch later in the week to set up another date for the next month, if that's what you want?" Shelby said.

Puck looked up from blowing an enormous raspberry on Beth's cheek. "Absolutely, yeah, the sooner the better, thanks."

He reluctantly passed Beth over to Shelby's arms. It took tremendous effort, peeling his fingers away. But when Beth reached up with chubby, dimpled hands to play with the gold chain around Shelby's neck, she looked far more like a girl with her mother than she ever would have looked like with Quinn, and he couldn't honestly say that he was sorry.

Shelby stood on the walkway with Beth, and she stayed there waving until Harry pulled out of the driveway and down the street.

"You know, I'm really proud of you," said Harry, over the Metallica that was blaring out of the speakers.

"Really now?" said Puck, smirking as he fiddled with the radio dial.

"Yes, actually. You were nice to Ms. Corcoran. And you didn't run out the door with Beth, like I thought you were going to do for a while there. Not that I blame you. She's so cute it should be illegal."

"She is, isn't she?" Puck leaned back in his seat.

Harry's mouth formed a thin line, and he was shaking like he was trying not to laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just kind of look like Burt Hummel, with your face making that expression."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"Good. Because is it."

* * *

><p>When they returned to Harry's apartment, Ron was sprawled across the couch watching a trashy E! segment on some celebrity or another's sex tape, and Hermione was typing away furiously on Harry's laptop.<p>

"Writing another dissertation on minority species rights?" Harry asked Hermione.

She slammed the laptop shut immediately, looking slightly guilty. "No, nothing, I was just reading news websites."

"Come on now, Hermione. You've got that expression on your face, like you're up to something." Harry sat on the loveseat next to Hermione, Puck took the couch. A brief but furious fight ensued over the remote; a fight which Puck won. He immediately flicked to some sort of _Mad Men_ marathon and pretended not to be eavesdropping on Harry and Hermione.

"I was looking for wedding venues," he heard Hermione sigh in an undertone, once she'd looked over at Ron. Ron was snoring away, evidently unexcited by the life of Don Draper.

"Why not the Burrow?" Harry was speaking in a near-whisper.

"It's kind of…crowded, you know?" said Hermione. "And it just feels like bad luck. Given the last wedding there and everything. I know it's completely irrational, but…" She was chewing on her lower lip.

"No, I get it," said Harry. "I didn't go back to Little Whinging, because it was just unnecessarily uncomfortable and depressing."

"I think I found something, though," said Hermione.

"You did? Then what's all the fuss over?"

"The thing is, it's a public place."

Puck chanced a glance away from the show that he was watching with glazed eyes. He supposed he was too much of a plebian to care for the cultural and metaphoric nuances. Hermione was twisting her fingers in a very good imitation of the woman onscreen, though.

"Oh. That might cause a few problems. You and Ron have a rather large share of fans, after all."

"Yes, well." Hermione had gone a faint shade of pink. "I'm just warning you in advance. It's up to you to make the choice."

"It always comes down to a choice, doesn't it?"

* * *

><p>"So, don't take this wrong way," Puck said the next morning, when they were driving back to his apartment.<p>

Harry didn't even look at him from over the steering wheel. "What is it?"

"So I was kind of listening to you and Hermione's conversation last night," he said, a bit shamefaced.

"Yeah? So? I knew you were." Harry rolled his eyes

"Really?" Puck felt put out. "But I was being super subtle."

"I might have believed it, except I know you too well to think that you'd ever sit through _Mad Men._"

"Oh. Okay. Well then. I was just curious to see what you were going to do. But I'm not judging, either way. Just curious."

Harry pulled up in the parking lot. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I've got a plan."

Puck raised an eyebrow. "What kind of plan?"

Harry leaned over and whispered into his ear. Puck's face split into a huge grin. "I think it's my turn to be ridiculously proud of you," he said, putting a palm to the side of Harry's face. He leaned forward and gave him a deep kiss for good measure, the morning sun warming them.

* * *

><p>I didn't really want to make Shelby Corcoran a villain, mostly because Idina Menzel is the most fabulous thing ever. So no, no creepy Shelby hitting on Puck moments. Also, epilogue should be up very fast. Two or three days tops, methinks. Now I'm getting so many end of the story feels. crying.


	19. Epilogue

AN: Well, this is it, ladies and germs. The end of the road. It's been an amazing ride and I can't thank everyone enough for every review, every view count, every alert, and every favorite. I'd like to thank in particular the people who made it a point to regularly review. It was a motivator like you wouldn't believe.

Oh yeah, and I own nothing. In case you forgot.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, the summer sun in London was boiling. Puck could almost see the steam wafting off the black asphalt that cut through the old brownstone and brick buildings, an anachronism.<p>

He stood with his arms crossed, baking away in a long-sleeved suit jacket as he leaned up against one of those iconic red telephone booths. Harry was inside the booth, having a fiercely whispered telephone conversation with God knew who. As Puck watched the clouds wheel over building that stretched to the sun, he thought. He thought about how at one point in his life, he figured that Columbus would be the biggest city he'd ever get to see, prison bars the only long-term relationship he'd ever find, a one night stand the most meaningful relationship he'd ever have.

And yet, there he was. In the middle of a busy London street watching the little people swarm past, and he wasn't even running from some kind of police warrant. He was just waiting for the love of his life.

Harry emerged from the phone booth carding his fingers through his hair, and it stuck up even more wildly than usual. Puck flashed him a crooked smile, and felt that uncomfortable sensation, like his heart was clenching, that feeling that never seemed to grow old. Harry returned the smile. He reached up to straighten Puck's hastily arranged black tie. Puck in turn smoothed out the lapels of Harry's suit.

"I seem to remember that this is how we started a truce of sorts," remarked Harry.

"We wasted all that time hating each other," said Puck. "And we could have spent it having some amazing sex instead."

Harry shrugged. "Hate, love, what's the difference? Besides, I think that we more than made up for the lost time."

"That we did," agreed Puck, and he locked both arms around the back of Harry's neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Nobody passing by paid them the least bit of mind.

Harry finally pulled back, lips a little swollen, a little red. "Much as I'd like to continue that, we're going to be late if we don't leave now. And Hermione will not hesitate to eviscerate you or me if we are."

"That she wouldn't," said Puck, and he shuddered a little bit. Hermione was an amazing chick, no doubt, but she could scare the living shit out of him sometimes, even more than pregnancy hormone Quinn or PMS Rachel could.

He looped an arm through Harry's, and they set off down the sidewalk together linked at the elbow. For all the world, they looked like a pair of exceedingly well-dressed shoppers having a stroll together as they went window shopping. However, Harry seemed to be on the lookout for a particular building.

Harry stopped in front of a dingy old diner that nobody seemed to be interested in frequenting. In fact, shoppers continued on past it without a second glance or even a speculative look-over. Puck peered inside the fly-speckled windows. The plastic topped tables looked greasy, and a single stooped old woman in an equally grease spattered apron was sweeping the same patch of floor over and over and stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Are you sure this is the right address?" asked Puck, turning to Harry and giving him a skeptical frown.

"Absolutely," said Harry, and he opened the door, dragging Puck in along with him.

The cool air washed over them both like a blessing, and it took Puck a moment to register what he was seeing. There was no old woman determinedly sweeping. For that matter, there was no diner. Instead they stood inside what could only be some kind of cathedral without pews or crosses or any of the usual religious trappings, or perhaps an palace ballroom. Rows upon rows of white chairs with morning glories creeping up the legs filled the hall.

Harry chose the only pair of seats left, in the back right corner. It seemed the ceremony was just about to start; the enormous crowd's attention was focused entirely on the front, where Puck could just barely make out a pair of figures: one in a floaty white dress and one in some kind of black robes with a shock of red hair.

* * *

><p>The ceremony was not half as strange as Puck might have expected out of a Wizarding wedding. The only real bit of magic came at the end, when Ron and Hermione were engulfed in a shower of silver stars by the wizened old man officiating the ceremony, as all the wedding goers rose to applaud.<p>

Breaking away from her embrace with Ron, Hermione clapped her hands three times. The chairs vanished, and refreshment tables took their place along the walls, plates decorated with matching morning glories. A string quartet trooped in and set up fort in the far corner, striking up a cheerful waltz. Puck hung on to Harry's arm, not knowing any of the people milling about and not entirely sure what he would do if approached by one.

He saw Ron and Hermione struggle through throngs of well-wishers as they spotted Harry and Puck and attempted to make a beeline for them. When Hermione reached them, she immediately threw her arms around the pair.

"I am so, so happy you made it," she said breathlessly, fixing her hair, which she had left smooth and loose except for a few flowers braided in.

Ron gave them both a manly sort of clap on the back.

People turned to look at the source of the commotion that they were creating, and Puck heard something like a ripple go through the crowd.

"Harry Potter?"

"Did you just see that? I think it might have been Harry Potter?"

"Do you think that it's _really _him?"

"The papers said that he was hiding on top of Mount Kilimanjaro. Or dead."

"Are you sure that's him?"

"Look, you can see his scar and everything!"

Puck watched, bemused, as people goggled and pointed. Almost as if on cue, the swarm of reporters who had hung around the refreshment tables to chat people up and get quotes on the wedding descended upon Harry.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, what do you have to say about your sudden leave of absence?"

"Are the rumor that you were undercover and behind the dissolution of the rogue Death Eater gangs true?"

"What do you have to say about allegations made by Ministry Public Relations head Sawyer?"

"Will you marry me?"

Multicolored flashes of smoke went off as cameras clicked madly, and quills zipped across notepads and parchment of their own volition.

Puck could see why Harry had run away. It was like watching a pack of hyenas.

"Mr. Potter," said one of the younger female reporters, sidling up next to Harry. Her lipstick was red, her black pinstripe suit cut low in the top and short in the skirt. Puck felt an irrational surge of jealousy. "What do you have to say about your relationship status? Are the rumors true, did you elope with Miss Ginevra Weasley?"

Out in the crowd, Puck could see a red-headed girl press her index fingers to her temples, as if she'd contracted a sudden migraine. The man next to her patted her shoulder comfortingly. Harry, however, did not look concerned.

"Or are you currently…unattached?" asked the reporter, twirling her quill pen.

"No and no," said Harry cheerfully. "But I _am _the happiest man in the world."

And without further ado, Harry swept Puck into another deep kiss. Puck was dimly aware of the cameras going mad, the reporters nearly pissing themselves with excitement. It was all a little dramatic, he thought. Kurt and Rachel would approve. But all of that was eventually lost to the feel of lips on his, and the thought that if anyone was happier than Harry, it was probably him.

* * *

><p>Well, the title is "The Happy Club?" How could I not give them a happy ending, big fat wizard wedding and all?<p> 


End file.
